


The Symbol in the Alley

by gingersprite



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Dubious Science, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 27,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24500275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/pseuds/gingersprite
Summary: The body of a gang member is found hanging from a lamppost, the gang's symbol painted on an alley wall. But what happens when one of the squints is put in jeopardy?
Relationships: Jack Hodgins/Angela Montenegro, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Seeley Booth/Temperance Brennan, Zack Addy & Temperance Brennan
Kudos: 7





	1. The Body

**Author's Note:**

> This is set sometime after season 5, where everyone now knows that Zack didn't kill anyone and he has been cleared of all charges and returned to the team.
> 
> After some deliberation, I've decided to start moving my old fics on FF over here; mostly for my own record keeping purposes and so everything's in one place. I've adjusted the date to reflect when I originally published this story, though right now it's 2020. This was one of my first fanfics ever and, well, let's just say it shows! So, while comments and kudos are always appreciated, I'm not interested in any concrit at this time.

> _FBI Crime Scene_

"Yup, that's a body!" FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth declared. His partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, gave him a look that clearly said 'well, duh!'. A look which was then voiced by her boss, Dr. Camille Saroyan.

"Booth, of course it's a body, that's why we're here," she said patiently. He nodded.

"Yeah, I know that, it's just- that's kind of a weird place to put a body," he continued to stare up at it. "Don't you think?" Dangling from a lamppost above them on the deserted street, a body hung from a rope tied to its ankle. Whatever flesh still left on it was rotting, the smell of which had attracted both the flies and the young couple who had informed the cops about it, who in turn passed the case to the FBI.

"Booth, I still don't understand why you had me come out," said Brennan, annoyed. "The body still has flesh on it. I won't be able to tell you anything until we get it back to the lab. What is the point of me being here?"

"Agent Booth enjoys your company," Dr. Zachary Addy said nonchalantly as he fiddled with the crime-scene camera he held.

"That's-that's silly, I've got no idea what you're talking about!" Booth spluttered indignantly. The young doctor looked up at him, dark eyes innocent.

"I'm sorry if I offended you. I was under the impression that because you two are friends, you are supposed to enjoy being in the company of one another," replied Zack, confused. "Did I misunderstand something?"

"No, I just-" Booth sighed exasperatedly. "You know what, never mind. Just, never mind." The rest of the team knew Brennan and Booth were in love with each other; unfortunately, the partners apparently did not know. Despite their obvious feelings for one another and the blatantly obvious sexual tension between them, neither one was willing to admit it to the other.

"Zack," Brennan pointed over to an area on the crime-scene. "Make sure you get pictures of those blood-splatters." Which were in no shortage; the ground around and the wall behind the body were covered in blood. Zack nodded and went over to where she pointed. He fumbled trying to take the picture and would have dropped the camera, had it not been for the strap that hung it around his neck. There was a _'click'_ and a flash as he accidentally took a picture.

"Careful!" Cam called out.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Don't worry, it's not damaged!"

"You sure that's a good idea?" Booth lowered his voiced as he asked Brennan. "Having Zack take the pictures-"

"Relax, he's doing fine," assured Cam. "He's gained back almost all use of his hands; he hardly ever drops things anymore."

"If you say so." At that moment, Dr. Jack Hodgins ran up to them.

"You won't believe what I just found!" he exclaimed.

"Dirt?" asked Cam absentmindedly, occupied with the body.

"OK, dirt is not the proper term, it doesn't say anything about the particulates in it, or the size of them, or-"

"Hodgins, what did you find?"

"It's better if you just saw it for yourselves. Hey Zack, we'll definitely need a picture of this!" he shouted, and then led them over to an alley farther off. They walked down it as Hodgins continued to point to a wall at the end. The entomologist couldn't resist flashing an enthusiastic grin at the stunned looks on Cam and Brennan's faces. A strange black symbol was painted on the wall. As they watched, the thick, still-wet paint dripped slowly down the brick wall. All around the only noise to be heard was a soft _'click'_ from the camera behind them.


	2. At the Lab

> _Jeffersonian Medico-legal Lab_

Back at the lab, the squints were going over the bones, now that Zack had completely cleaned them of flesh after Cam's initial autopsy. "So, what've we got?" asked Booth. Instantly, they launched into long, detailed explanations, or in other words 'squint speak'. At the clueless look on Booth's face, Brennan began to explain in 'normal speak'.

"Male, around twenty-five years old, 5ft-9, severely malnourished, which suggests growing up in poverty as a child. Based on the amount of blood at the scene, he was killed there before being tied to the lamppost."

"Tox-screen came back!" Hodgins piped up. "Our guy here had high levels of heroin, Ecstasy, cocaine, PCP; you name it, he did it. Based on the fly larvae I found in what's left of his eyeballs, he's been dead for almost two weeks."

"Both the street and the alley are pretty secluded, plus the neighborhood's pretty rough. If anyone saw something, they wouldn't be likely to report it. As it is, the couple who found the body didn't live nearby; they come across it simply by accident. They didn't know the dangers." Cam concluded.

"The victim has various injuries aside from those that killed him. Bruises and fractures to the ribs, arms, and legs are pre-mortem, suggesting he was beaten before being killed. Cause of death was being shot through the head. Based on the angle, the most likely scenario is the assailants put a gun in his mouth." added Zack. Booth looked at the body, confused.

"Hang on, where _is_ the head?"

"We have Angela working on a facial reconstruction with it." Cam explained.

"Alright," said Booth. "Now, does anyone know how that symbol factors in?" Angela Montenegro came out of her office, waving a folder excitedly, her dark-brown curls flying out behind her.

"I got something!" she cried and took a paper from the folder, laying it on an empty examination table nearby. They all crowded around to see. "I finished giving our guy a face. His name's Harvey Elmeyer and he's got a record. Four arrests in total, all on relatively minor charges. Drunk driving, theft, that sort of thing. He's also been caught carrying drugs. Apparently," She added, pulling out a second paper. "The drugs belonged to a gang. The symbol that Hodgins found; that's theirs. The gang calls themselves 'The Executioners'. Nasty, huh?" The paper had pictures on a black ax symbol, the same on at the crime scene, painted on different walls

"There's not much else to go on. No names, no hang-out. All the members have the ax tattooed on both arms, like Elmeyer here." Out of nowhere Vincent Nigel-Murray, the intern, popped up behind them.

"Dr. Brennan, is there anything you need me to do?" the Brit asked. "I finished what you asked me to do before, involving the Native American chief's skeleton- oh, The Executioners!" He cut off when he noticed the pictures. "Very interesting; did you know that the head of the gang is unidentified? He's referred to as the 'Hangman', and everyone else is really just his followers or messengers. Rumor has it, if you want someone dead, you find a messenger and he reports it to the Hangman. Of course, he doesn't really hang anyone, usually he uses a gun, but I suppose it's the name that really counts-" Cam cut him off before he could continue.

"Wait; you actually know something about them?" He nodded.

"Well done Vince! One of your annoying facts actually came in handy!" Hodgins exclaimed, clapping the now slightly-hurt intern on the back.


	3. Interrogation

> _J. Edger Hoover Building- Interrogation Room_

A couple agents at the crime scene had picked up a young man sneaking around. Based on the tattoos on his arms, he was a member of The Executioners, and his behavior was suspicious enough to warrant being detained. Booth, Brennan, and Dr. Lance Sweets were at the FBI building, the first about to interrogate while the latter two watched behind the two-way mirror. Booth sauntered into the interrogation room and looked over the man sitting before him. He was lean, almost to the point of scrawniness, and his clothing was in poor condition. Each arm bore the black ax tattoo. Booth noticed that even though the room was a comfortable temperature, the man had beads of sweat on his brow and shook slightly.

"Hey, you alright?" Booth asked, slightly concerned. If the guy keeled over in interrogation, it would mean a _lot_ of paper work.

"Yeah, I'm fine, now just hurry it up and get this over with!" he snapped.

"Fine, sure. Sooner this is done, sooner you can get out. That means you need to cooperate with me." Booth skimmed through a paper with the suspect's information. "Steve Ride, age twenty-five, lives in the neighborhood where the body of Harvey Elmeyer was found, and, oh yeah, is a member of the Executioners, whose symbol was found near the scene along with you!" The young man shrugged.

"So?" He sniffed. "What's it got to do with me?" Booth looked at him incredulously.

"So, you were sneaking around a Federal crime scene!" he exclaimed. "You want to explain that?" From behind the mirror, Sweets and Brennan watched.

"It would seem the suspect is hiding something," the psychologist deduced.

"Of course he is, that's why Booth is interrogating him!" Brennan replied, her patients already becoming taxed by the man.

"But what _particular_ thing would he be hiding?" Sweets mused. "It's obvious from his shaking that he is starting to go through drug withdrawal ever since being detained."

"I could have told you that, anyone could have! I hate psychology."

"Perhaps the Hangman sent him to paint the symbol, promising more drugs. Now that he's been caught, it's likely the blame will fall on him if his boss is discovered." Sweets leaned over to the microphone and related his suspicions to Booth through the ear bud. Nodding almost imperceptibly, the agent began a new routine.

"Based on that shivering, I'd say someone missed their last fix. Got caught before you could get it from the Hangman?" Ride's eyes widened.

"What would you know about that?" He half-whispered.

"Oh, nothing really. Just that you were told to leave the gang's mark by the wall. Trying to scare off anyone who wanted to mess with the Executioners." The fear in Ride's eyes was clear. Booth smiled inwardly. A little more and the man was sure to cave. Very rarely did they get a guy who would talk too easily. What a stroke of luck!

"I'm pretty sure the boss isn't going to be too happy about you getting caught." Booth continued. "In fact, he'd probably make you suffer the consequences, whether you tell us anything or not. But, it's a little different here. If you do tell us, we can keep him and his goons away from you. If not, well…" Ride was hooked now. There was no way anyone would turn down that deal.

"Fine, you've made your point!" The trembling in his voice spoiled the tough act. "What do you wanna know?"

"Why'd the Hangman go after Elmeyer?" questioned Booth.

"Something to do with holding out on the boss. Keeping some of the drug money, that sorta thing. But it doesn't matter why; it wouldn't take much to make him mad." He quailed at the very thought.

"Next question then; who's the Hangman really?" The suspect stared at him, surprised.

"I dunno. No one does. Don't know where he lives either. He sends someone to tell us where to meet. Changes all the time. He'll have changed it by now, and I don't know where it's gonna be." Booth frowned. The information helped, but it was still like taking two steps forward and one back. Maybe the squints could find out something. He started to leave.

"Hey, what about what you said before?" cried Ride. Booth looked over his shoulder.

"We'll see."


	4. Discovery

> _Jeffersonian Medico-legal Lab_
> 
> _Friday, 8:30 PM_

It had gotten dark outside while they were at the FBI building. When they got back to the lab, Booth and Brennan went about briefing the squints on what had been uncovered in interrogation, with interjections by Sweets, of course.

"So, the next thing we need is to find out where the Hangman lives, or common meeting places for his gang." Booth concluded.

"Hodgins, can you tell anything from any particulates found on the body?" asked Brennan.

"There were some particles, enough to give a rough location; but not enough to really pinpoint anything. I'll look again, but there's not much that we can use. This guy's been practicing, and he knows how to keep his hands clean," he replied. Booth groaned.

"Dammit! There's gotta be something! Maybe on his clothes?" He looked at the squints hopefully.

"I could look," Zack offered. "But most likely there will be nothing of use-"

"It couldn't hurt though," Cam said. "We'll go over our findings again. I won't promise anything from my team, though." Booth shrugged, resigned to accept the fact that the squints were only human (except Zack; he wasn't entirely sure about him). They discussed various other things they could try, but it was all squint speak to him. Realizing he really didn't care about the procedure, just the results, they went about their tasks. Feeling slightly out of place, Booth decided to go look over Brennan's shoulder until she snapped at him to leave.

Zack was going over the victim's clothing, searching for something useful. There was nothing useful, to be honest. Just a lot of blood stains around the areas where Elmeyer had been wounded… except at one spot. Strangely, the bottom of the left sleeve was slightly bloodied- but the only place the victim hadn't sustained injuries was his left wrist. Based on the bone formation and the strength of what little muscles remained attached, Elmeyer was left-handed. The gears in Zack's brain started turning. The young genius began to search through the victim's pants pockets. His brow furrowed when he found nothing. But Zack didn't give up so easily. Snatching the crime-scene photos he had taken, he flipped through them, analyzing each for what he was looking for specifically. The last picture was one he had taken by accident. When the camera had slipped, his finger accidentally hit the button and took a photo. It was this one that he now studied. It was blurred and unfocused, but there it was in the corner! They had walked past it and not even noticed! He searched frantically for a pen, found one, then circled a spot on the picture and quickly jotted down what he found on a scrap of paper. He'd neaten it up later, but right now he had to check something out.

Zack pulled off his lab coat, switching it for his coat. He raced out onto the platform where bodies were kept for examination, pulling out his gloves from his coat pocket as he went. It wasn't cold outside, but he'd found that people were less likely to stare at someone with scarred hands than someone wearing gloves. Personally, he didn't really understand it. But then again, he wasn't one to know why people did things, he thought as he pulled the gloves on gingerly. That was Agent Booth and Dr. Sweets' job.

"Whoa, Speedy Gonzales, where're you headed?" called Hodgins out from his desk.

"I found something we missed at the crime scene!" He replied, looking over his shoulder. "And what's a 'speedy'?" Hodgins rolled his eyes.

"Never mind," He muttered. It wasn't unusual for one of them to run out without saying what they'd found. Something Zack had picked up from Brennan. That and not understanding social references. Whatever. Sooner he got back; sooner Booth could bust some criminal's ass.


	5. Taken!

> _FBI Crime Scene_

The entire area was pitch-black and empty, save for the crime-scene tape that fluttered in the slight breeze. Paying the cabbie, Zack got out of the taxi and walked towards the wall behind the lamppost. He clicked on a flashlight and shone it around the area, searching for what he found in the photo. Where was it? He got down on his hands and knees, feeling around with his hand. Zack winced as his sensitive fingers touched the ground, and realized he'd forgotten to take his painkillers before he left. It was no matter; he'd just take them once he got back to the lab. Closing his eyes, Zack tried to think back to the object location in relation to the wall in the picture.

He'd found a crucial clue; the blood on Elmeyer's hand didn't belong to him, so it most likely came from his assailant. In other words, they potentially had the Hangman's DNA! But, for there to be that amount of blood, it had to mean the victim had some sort of weapon, perhaps a switchblade, which he had lost during the fight and had gotten tossed by the wall by accident. In the photo Zack had taken, it was by the wall, hard to see for someone who wasn't looking. But he'd found it, and if it had more of the Hangman's blood on it (which it most likely did) they might have enough for a match. First, he had to _find_ it though!

Absorbed in his search, it's no wonder Zack didn't hear the crime-scene tape rustle, even though the breeze had stopped. He didn't hear the soft creak of an old sneaker behind him, or the nearly-nonexistent sound of a switchblade opening. Suddenly, a cloth sack was shoved over his head. Rough hands grabbed him as he struggled. Pain erupted as his hands were twisted behind his back and rope tied around his wrists. Zack froze as he felt the cold metal of a knife on his throat.

"What have we here?" a voice murmured in his ear. "This is Executioner territory, kid."

"I don't like how he's snooping around!" growled a second voice.

"Now what? Do we kill him now?" said a third person, sounding just a tad too eager.

"We'll take him back to the meeting place; see what the Hangman has to say." Zack felt his stomach lurch in fear.

"If you wanna live to see eighteen, you'd better cooperate with us."

"But, I'm twenty-eight!"


	6. Missing

> _Jeffersonian Medico-legal Lab_
> 
> _Friday, 10:00 PM_

Something wasn't right. Brennan knew it as soon as she stepped out of her office. Something was wrong in her lab (well, technically it was Cam's lab, but Brennan had been there longer and claimed certain rights to it). She looked around and saw Hodgins at his desk, eye glued to a microscope.

"Hodgins," she began, tapping him on the shoulder. He yelped and jumped in his seat. Breathing heavily, he turned around to look at her.

"Um, yeah, hi! Is there something you need me to do, now?" he asked, slightly annoyed, then saw her frowning. "Something wrong?"

"Yes, but I don't know what," she muttered, puzzled. "It just seems, different here. Did anyone leave or do something?" Hodgins thought back.

"Come to think of it, yeah. Zack ran out; he said he found something and had to go back to the crime-scene. That was-" he looked at the clock on his desk. "Damn, it's almost ten! He left around eight-thirty! How long does it take to get over there?"

"Only ten minutes…" Her eyes widened, and she dashed off. Cam was in her office at her desk, reviewing some papers.

"Cam! Have you seen Zack?"

"Not for a little while, I don't think. I know he left to go do something. Brennan, is something wrong?" she asked, confused.

"I'm not sure," At that moment, Angela walked past the door. "Ange! When did you last see Zack?" The woman shrugged.

"I dunno, maybe a few hours ago. I just figured he was working on something with the bones-" She stopped when she noticed the look on her best friend's face. She looked like she struggling very hard to keep her face blank, and only succeeding part-way. Nothing could hide the fear and worry in her eyes, though. Brennan ran past her, skidded a little, and ran down the walkway. Booth stood by the railing, staring blankly out one of the windows, totally bored. At the sound of her shoes hitting the ground, he turned around and flung out an arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"Hey Bones, where's the fire?"

"Do you remember when you last saw Zack?" He frowned, confused.

"Um, not really. I remember he was going to look at the clothes again; Bones, did something happen?" He put each of his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to stand still. The look she gave him now shocked him. She look… scared. Not like when you're scared of something; when you're scared for _someone_. She took a deep, steadying breath.

"I can't find Zack. Hodgins said he's been gone for an hour and a half! Zack went back to the crime-scene to look for something. It shouldn't take that long to get a taxi over there and back!" Her voice seemed strained as she fought to stay calm. Booth nodded, understanding.

"OK, just calm down a bit. We'll go over there and find him. I'm sure he's fine; probably just got stuck in the 'do not cross' tape! Again." He tried to joke, but it was lost on her as usual.

As Brennan had said, it took only around ten minutes for them to get there. She climbed out of Booth's car and ran towards the scene, her partner shouting at her to slow down. Brennan climbed over the caution tape and looked around. No one. She dashed about, looking in the numerous small alleys and behind large trash bins, anywhere a person could be.

"Zack!" she called, over and over, but there was never any response. By the lamppost, she heard Booth say her name. She went over to where he knelt, carefully picking something up with his tie covering his hand.

"What is it?" asked Brennan, slightly out of breath from running, shouting, and just plain worry. He held the object up. It was Zack's flashlight, the lens cracked as if it had been dropped.

"I know you say not to assume until all the facts are in," he began. "But based on this, and those footprints behind you," he pointed over to a mess of muddy prints. "I'd say someone's kidnapped Zack."


	7. The Gang

The light coming from the few dying light bulbs was dim, but when they ripped the bag off Zack's head, it temporarily blinded him. Blinking the spots from his eyes, Zack tried to look at his surroundings. After the three gang members had grabbed him, they shoved him into the trunk of a car. The ride had taken around half an hour, but to Zack it felt like much more. Trapped in the dark, bound and gagged, all around he could feel only the sides of the trunk. It was all he could do to keep from screaming. For a moment, he was reminded vaguely of when Gormogon took him the first time, when it was still against his will. Even after so long, the occasional nightmares still plagued him. They were always the same, quite similar to what was happening now. But this was very, very real.

Once the car had come to a stop, the men had pulled Zack out of the trunk and forced him to start walking. The ground was rocky and he'd slipped often. Each time he almost fell, one of them would hit him in his head or sides. But Zack couldn't help it; the terrain was almost impossible to maneuver blind! After a bit, the ground leveled out, and based on the smoothness of the floor Zack concluded they were in a building. He was forced down two flights of stairs and a long hallway before they finally stopped. Then, he'd been shoved into a room and one of them had left, leaving the remaining two guarding Zack. His cheek and shoulder still stung from where the right side of his body hit the ground.

The room was small and dark, save for the few lights and a couple of empty shelves on the walls. Zack guessed it was originally a storage closet. A thick layer of dust coated the ground. He looked up at the man who stood over him. Physically, he was relatively unremarkable. Average height, average build, with nondescript brown hair and gray eyes. They studied each other intently, like a cat and mouse. Zack had the unnerving feeling that he was the mouse.

"Who are you kid, and what were you doing in my territory?" the man questioned. Outside, Zack was quiet and composed. Inside, he quailed. His territory? Did that mean this was the feared Hangman? He didn't seem that much, not nearly as big as his reputation inspired; but then again, Gormogon had been the same way. Immediately, Zack knew he couldn't reveal anything, not even his name. He couldn't let them find out what he was doing there, or that the key to their undoing was the knife which still lay hidden on the scene.

"Well?" snapped the Executioner who had come back with the Hangman. Zack still didn't answer. He felt the wind knocked from his lungs as the man kicked him in the ribs. Gasping, he attempted to catch his breath. The Hangman glared at his follower.

"Jameson, we don't need that yet! Let's first find out who he is," the man grumbled, and nodded. "Did you find a driver's license, Pierce?" The second man standing slightly behind him shook his head.

"No sir, but there was this." He tossed the Hangman a small plastic card, which Zack recognized immediately as his ID card for the Jeffersonian. So much for not revealing anything. Maybe it wouldn't mean much to them, or so he hoped.

"'Doctor Zachary Addy'," the Hangman read aloud. "Dr.? Aren't you a little young to have gone to medical school?"

"I'm a forensic anthropologist, and like I told your followers, I'm twenty-eight!" he replied. Zack hoped he'd maybe be taken aback a little, but the Hangman didn't falter. Instead, he smirked.

"Well 'Dr. Addy'," the way he said his title, like it was a joke, made Zack slightly annoyed. "Isn't this a little far away from your Jeffersonian Institute?"

"I don't really know where I am. I was abducted and shoved in the trunk of a car. I also don't know how long I've been held captive." He replied honestly. Pain assailed him as Jameson kicked him again, shouting something about 'no funny business'. What had he said that was wrong? The Hangman grabbed Zack by the hair and pulled him back up into a sitting position.

"You're starting to annoy me, to be honest. I act a little reckless when I get annoyed. My boys here can vouch for that." He made a sound that could only barely qualify as a laugh. "So, let's get back to the business of what you were doing when they picked you up."

"Considering the situation, the proper term is 'kidnapped'." Zack corrected.

"Kidnapped, picked up; I don't really see the difference. You're a doctor; you must be smart. I've got a bit of a rep, see? So, show me how smart you are by telling me what I want to know." Zack was silent. This time, the Hangman didn't reprimand Jameson when he dealt Zack another blow to his side. The gang leader then looked over at the two men behind him.

"Pierce, anything else?" he snapped.

"Just that ID card, boss. No other info." At the moment, Zack was thankful he'd chosen to leave the rest of his things at the Jeffersonian. "He wears some weird gloves though."

"Really? How interesting." His hand shot forward and he wrenched Zack around by the arm, then cut the bindings around his wrists. Shoving Zack back against the wall, the Hangman pulled off his gloves. Now his hands really began to hurt. They were healed now, but he'd been warned that they'd always be sensitive to the touch, especially without taking medication. It was similar arthritis. For a moment, no one said anything, looking at the old injuries. Then, the Hangman looked at Zack, and smiled horribly.

"Well, good doctor, care to tell how you got those nasty scars?"

"An explosion." Zack replied through gritted teeth.

"Interesting. It's possible you could have some uses, but for now I have some… business to attend to."

"Murder, you mean." The Hangman looked almost thoughtful for a moment.

"Yes, something like that. Boys, let's leave West to guard Dr. Addy, here."

"Boss, you sure we should leave West-"

"Yeah, of all people-" Pierce and Jameson began, but the Hangman cut them off with a glare. He strode out of the room with them in his wake and closed the door. Left in the room was a young man. His blonde hair hung in ratty strands, and he looked half-starved in his dirty clothes. He glared at Zack with red-rimmed eyes.

"My understanding is that now you are going to attempt to show your dominance by threatening me. I should only warn you that, while anthropologically this may work, you are clearly not dominant in your group, and therefore not much of a threat." Zack explained. West frowned, confused.

"Just shut up now, ya hear?" He sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

"Why do you follow him?" asked Zack suddenly. Now West looked really confused.

"What should it matter to you?" Zack shrugged. The man thought about it a moment. "I guess its cause he's right, y'know?"

"No,"

"He knows what the world's really about. Why do all those big guys get the fancy offices while we're left with nothing? We'd still be with nothing if it hadn't been for him." For some reason, Zack began to feel… angry. This surprised him, because he was not one to get angry, but right now that's how he felt.

"So you think it is right to follow this man blindly?" West was also surprised by the anger in Zack's tone, who hadn't even realized it himself. "You've seen my hands, the scars." It was hard not to notice; the skin color was blotchy, networked by thick, angry red scarring.

"Are you tryin' to make a point here?"

"Yes, I believe I am. In an explosion I designed, I received third-degree burns and massive tissue damage on both hands. Additionally, the cartilage on my left hand was completely destroyed."

"What's that supposed to-"

"All because I let someone else think for me! I almost ruined my life, if you'll pardon the dramatics. If you keep following the Hangman, the statistical probability that you'll end up worse is very high. Do you really want to be like that?" Zack snapped at him, feeling extremely frustrated. Why would someone choose to do something that would inevitably destroy them? Face red, West stared at him indignantly for a few seconds, before finding his voice again.

"Sh-shut up you! You don't know anything 'bout the Hangman, or us!" West punched him, and Zack fell down on the ground, hard. He felt blood trickle down from his forehead. Before he could sit up, he was being kicked again, each time more vicious than the last. Curling up into a tight ball, Zack realized that he'd better get used to it.


	8. The Search

> _Jeffersonian Medico-legal Lab_
> 
> _Saturday, 1:00 AM_

Nearly three hours later, the squints were still working tirelessly, despite the late hour. A simple workday might have a set time, but with Zack missing, they refused to stop searching until he was found. They'd looked over every possible detail in the particulates gathered before for something important they'd missed. But still, nothing! Everyone was stressed beyond belief, and visibly showed their fear. Except for Brennan, who worked on stoically, fighting to retain the urge to panic like Angela had when she and Booth had first gotten back.

The usually perky artist was now on the brink of tears. Hodgins didn't deal well with sorrow, so instead went about fuming and cursing as he did his work, all the while snapping the rubber band on his wrist. Cam kept reviewing the notes they had gathered so far on the case, even after it got to the point where she had memorized large chunks of the text and the letters started to swim across the paper. Even though he and Zack were never really close, even Booth could not deny that he had a soft spot for the kid; and even more, he knew how much he meant to Brennan. So, Booth had pulled every file involving cases that were suspected to involve the Hangman, and was steadily working through the large stack. As usual, Brennan went over every detail with a keen, shrewd eye, as she attempted to keep her emotions from affecting her judgment. But inside, she was hurting even more than she was willing to admit even to herself.

At some point, Cam decided it was time to get the team together and pool their information. Right now, it was the only hope of finding their friend.

"All right everyone, it's been a while; let's see what we've found." ordered Cam.

"The particles found in the former cases Booth looked up are most likely from different locations. If we're to trust what Ride told us, their meeting place is always different, so that's totally useless!" Hodgins reported, the news clearly doing nothing that positively affected his temper.

"The injuries and cause of death for the victims in the other cases were inconsistent too."

"Bullets and knife wounds for each kill didn't match up. The Hangman doesn't use the same gun enough times to track it." Angela added sadly.

"C'mon, this is getting us nowhere; what else?"

"In the footprints there were particulates of plastics from various toys, wood splinters, and metal chips, along with dust and an old piece of paper the size of a quarter! What'd you expect us to learn from this?" Hodgins retorted. Why did people always seem to expect him to just be able to pull answers out of nothing, like a rabbit out of a hat?

"Hodgins, I believe the proper response here is 'chill'," said Brennan.

"I ran the paper through some scans and it most likely came from a peanut butter jar," explained Angela. "All the 'clues' in the footprint and the old files point to a million different places."

"Perhaps we would benefit from trying to understand the gang's motives for kidnapping Zack." Sweets pondered. Little did the squints know that this wasn't far off; back at the crime-scene, the knife still lay unnoticed.

"For all we know, they got defensive about Zack being in territory they claimed as theirs. It wasn't unheard of back in the Bronx." Cam said, switching back into cop-mode.

"We're wasting time people! Does anyone have any idea how these all fit together?"

"A warehouse," Brennan said suddenly. The bickering stopped and all eyes turned to her. "The wood could have come from furniture, the metal from different appliances, the toys, the food label… couldn't they all belong in a warehouse? The large amount of dust would suggest abandonment."

"That could be it," Hodgins said, his voice suddenly quiet. He dashed over to his desk and did a quick run-through of the information he had collected. "That could definitely be it!" A short, small grin broke out on their faces, for the first time in what felt like days.

"I'll do a search for abandoned warehouses in that area where those particles you found before come from," Booth declared. He looked over at Brennan. "Don't worry Bones, now that we've got a location, we'll find him." She nodded slightly.

"It's just… he's been gone for over four hours! What could they be doing to him?" The fear at last showed in her voice. Everyone stopped, and for a moment each squint had the same scenario rolling through their heads. _Zack's bloodied body lying cold and lifeless on an autopsy table…_

"All right people, we're almost there; let's hurry it up!" Cam ordered, her voice cracking slightly.


	9. Information

_"Hypothetically, you have a piece of information…" Ms Pickering asked. Zack restrained himself from rolling his eyes. The woman had been sent to perform a security review of the Jeffersonian team, and it was now his turn to be interrogated. But he was busy examining the bones of the victim from their latest case, and her constant questioning was getting on his nerves._

_"Secret and meaningful?" Zack queried. After all, information was a word that could describe anything from nuclear launch codes to what he had for breakfast. If she was doing a security review, she ought to be more specific. Though, he found it quite unlikely that anyone would ever really care what type of cereal he ate._

_"Yes, and the security of the country is at stake. Could I bribe you to give it to me?" He bit back an irritated sigh as he set down the fibula he'd been holding, resigned to the fact that the sooner he answered this silly woman's questions, the sooner he'd be able to finish his task._

_"No." Money was quite low on his list of important things. Criminals weren't known for honoring their agreements, anyway._

_"Threaten you?" He almost laughed. If 'the security of the country' rested on something in his knowledge, whoever wanted it would have to go to great lengths to pry it from him._

_"No." Ms Pickering pursed her lips, clearly growing tired with his one-word answers. She decided it was time for a different approach._

_"What if I made a reasonable, rational argument, very persuasive?" That made him stop and think for a moment._

_"Merely persuasive?" he asked in reply. Someone would have to be much more than 'persuasive' to make him commit treason._

_"Irrefutable…"_

Zack could feel his grip on consciousness dwindling, as his thoughts wandered to events long-past. Was four, almost five, years so long a time period? It was, considering all that had happened.

The Hangman had ordered his men to stand watch outside the closet door, and had then begun to question him.

"What does the Jeffersonian have to do with the body?"

"Why were you there?"

"What did you find?"

"Who do you work with?" Each time, Zack met him with silence. The Hangman had tortured him to the point where telling him what he wanted to know began to look like a good option. But that would mean his friends would suffer. Sure, it was highly unlikely the gang would mount an assault on the Jeffersonian and the FBI; but that didn't mean these killers wouldn't pick them off when they were alone, unprotected. The Hangman was clearly determined that no one be able to track him down. The team was a second family to him. If he had to die to protect them, Zack knew he would, without hesitation. At first, the blows had hurt greatly, but after a while Zack didn't really feel them. His hands still ached, but it had dulled. If his medical knowledge was sound (which it of course was) he had two, maybe three broken ribs. For a moment, Zack feared they might puncture a vital organ, but it quickly became apparent that they wouldn't. He still had no idea how long since he'd been abducted. Time had become blurred, to the point where it was too difficult to think straight.

"Ya know kid, you are really pissing me off," the Hangman commented after a while. "Gotta admit, I didn't think a freak like you could hold out this long." Zack looked up wearily to meet his gaze.

"Squint," he corrected. "I'm not a freak; I'm a squint." The Hangman stared at him, confused that what he had finally spoken was so unexpected.

"That supposed to mean something?" snapped the gang leader.

"It means I have friends who will find you, and bring you to justice." Zack replied, and a bit of strength seemed to return to him. He was reminded again that he wasn't alone. Zack was determined to protect his friends; he wasn't going to let them down again.

"Is that so?" The Hangman turned to West, who handed him something before shrinking back into a corner. It was a switchblade. Zack felt his new-found spirit sink as quickly as it had come. Was it a thing with gangs, using blades? What happened to guns? Of course, neither was preferred in this scenario, but still, one had to wonder. The man flicked open the blade. He grabbed Zack's left wrist and slowly dragged the blade along the soft tissue on the inside of his arm. It hurt a lot, but he refused to give the Hangman the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Zack was gripped with the intense urge to pull away, but he fought it back. He knew there were several veins that were currently very close to that knife, and sudden movement might cause them to be severed. As an anthropologist, he knew how fragile life could be. And Zack would give it all up, for the sake of his friends.

"You will talk," the Hangman ordered, drawing each word out slowly. Zack met his cold eyes, and when he spoke his voice was steady and determined.

"You'll have to kill me first."


	10. Hostage Rescue

> _Outside Abandoned Warehouse_
> 
> _Saturday, 1:45 AM_

"Bones, tell your squint squad to at least let me unlock the door first!" Booth exclaimed as his car stopped. Angela, Hodgins, and Cam were pushing past each other trying to open the car door, but in the process crushing Sweets. He turned to Brennan, then realized she was busy trying to open the passenger door, which was also locked. "Geniuses who can't even open a door! You people really are impossible!" He unlocked the doors and they all burst out of the car. FBI Hostage Rescue cars filled the area, everyone rushing around pulling on bulletproof vests and getting their guns ready.

"So, what's the plan?" Cam questioned.

"You don't need to know, because you squints are gonna stay here." Booth replied as he put on a vest another agent handed to him.

"What are you talking about?" snapped Hodgins. "We're not going to just sit here!"

"I can't let you go in."

"Zack is like a little brother to all of us; he's family!" Angela exclaimed. "You don't leave family!"

"There's got to be something we can do!" said Cam.

"You've all done plenty; leave this part to the FBI." Booth countered.

"The hell we will!" Hodgins argued.

"How do you think Zack will feel if one of you gets hurt trying to rescue him?" Sweets asked, his voice taking on the calm, yet incredibly irritating shrink-y tone. The angry protests ceased. That hadn't occurred to them. Of one thing, they were now certain; psychology sucks. But in this case, it was also correct. No one said anything.

"All right then," Booth muttered. He turned around and saw Brennan putting on a vest. "Bones, what the heck are you doing?"

"Preparing to go in with you to rescue Zack. I would have thought that to be quite obvious." Brennan explained.

"No, you're not going to-"

"Don't worry; since you usually insist against it, I won't bring a gun. The agent over there said I would be fine without it," she said calmly, pointing in a random direction.

"What? Who?" Booth cried.

"It doesn't matter. Come on, we're about to go in." She turned around, starting to walk away from him.

"Wait, Bones!" He grabbed her shoulder and looked at her. "This is insane, you can't be serious-" The burning look in her eyes made him pause.

"I have been with you in several situations similar to this," Brennan stated. "I know how to handle myself. I am therefore in very little danger. But Zack has been held captive there for hours, confused and undoubtedly frightened, while those… _people_ do who-knows-what to him! I refuse to hang back, no matter what you told the others! I'm coming with you!" Booth knew there was no chance of convincing her otherwise. Sometimes, she was just too stubborn for her own good.

"Fine, c'mon then!"


	11. Hostage Rescue II

> _Inside Abandoned Warehouse_
> 
> _Saturday, 1:50 AM_

Zack doubted he could take much more. There were more cuts and bruises than he had the energy to count. His right shoulder seemed to be dislocated as well. His nose had been bleeding a lot, but it didn't feel broken and at the moment the blood flow had ceased. And yet, Zack knew there would be more pain to come. The Hangman wiped some of Zack's blood off the knife, readying it for the next round, when one of his men burst through the door.

"What'd you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Sorry sir, but we've got company!" the man cried, breathless. "Dunno how many, but they've all got guns! Telling us to surrender and come out, or they're comin' in!" There was an ugly expression on the Hangman's face as he looked over at Zack.

"What the hell did you do?" he snarled.

"Nothing," replied Zack innocently. "I just have good friends. Really good friends."

"You're going to regret this! West, get him out of here; and finish him! Pierce, Jameson, you go with Blake here! I've got other things to do." He stormed from the room, and his men ran after him. West grabbed Zack and bound his wrists behind his back again. His hands ached now and his wrists burned where the rope cut into them. West pulled Zack to his feet, but his legs collapsed under him.

"Get back up! We've gotta hurry!" he shouted at him, slamming the blunt end of the switch-blade against the side of Zack's head, hard. Blood trickled out of his ear. Shoving Zack out of the room, West forced him back up the hallway, but splitting off into a different room a little bit before they got to the stairs. He pushed open the door, dragging Zack in behind him. The young doctor had decided that even though it seemed hopeless, fighting against him was worth a shot. Despite his captor's frailness though, Zack's struggles were all in vain. He knew from experience that he'd never been physically strong, and especially not in this weakened state. But still, he tried.

West bolted the doors, then pulled him along towards the back of the room. It was large and spacious, mostly empty in fact. It was probably at one point a giant storage room. Overhead, they could hear the pounding of boots and the rapid-fire of numerous guns. West was panting heavily; from forcing Zack to move or from terror?

"Look what you've done to us!" he screamed.

"You brought it on yourself," Zack answered coldly. "I warned you, didn't I?" He felt West grab onto his hair, yanking his head back. There was the snap of a switchblade opening and then the cold metal against his throat. Zack closed his eyes, readying for the end. Then out of nowhere, he heard a faint voice, shouting his name. Hope surged through him again. It was likely West would kill him before he could be found; but Zack wasn't one to give up so easily. He took a breath, and screamed.

"I'm in here! Can anyone hear me? I'm here!"

And then the door flew open with a loud _'bang!'_


	12. Rescue?

> _Abandoned Warehouse_

Booth ran through the rooms, shooting at any of the gang members than tried to attack them. Brennan followed him, ignoring the various bodies of Executioners lying on the floor. They were so close now! Where was he?

"Zack! Zack!" she shouted over the chaos all around them. "He has to be here, somewhere!"

"We'll find him, Bones." Booth called over his shoulder. A gang member jumped out and started shooting at them. But despite the Executioners powerful weapons, the men themselves weren't trained shots like the FBI. One shot to the shoulder and the man dropped his gun, staggering back from the force of the bullet. Booth grabbed his collar.

"Tell me where your boss is holding Dr. Addy!" he ordered, expecting the man to put up a fight, but that was not the case. Weaponless, the man cowered.

"Down two flights of stairs along the hallway! I don't know which room!" Booth let him go and dashed to the stairs the man indicated. They reached the hallway, and saw how long it was.

"Dammit!" Booth swore. "He could be in any one of these! We don't have time for this!"

"Zack! Where are you? If you can hear me, say something! Zack!" Brennan screamed, throwing it all to chance because there was no other option. Her heart sank when she heard no reply. She started to try again

"Wait!" Booth clapped a hand over her mouth. "Listen!" He was right; a faint shout could just barely be heard. Brennan had no idea which room it was coming from, but apparently Booth could tell. He went to a wide set of doors. When they wouldn't open, he told his partner to get behind him. Booth kicked open the doors; they flew open with a loud 'bang', revealing the room. It was large and empty, for the most part. Except at the back.

At the other end of the room stood a blonde young man. He had Zack by the hair, his wrists bound, with a knife at his throat. Dirt, sweat, and blood caked Zack's bruised face. He could barely stand he was so exhausted from his injuries. Brennan felt rage grow within her when she saw what horrible shape he was in. As often as she had seen it, the cruelty humans could show to each other never ceased to amaze her.

"FBI!" Booth announced, his voice calm and composed as he pointed the gun at the lone Executioner. "Drop the knife and back away from him." The blonde man's eyes were wide with shock. He could only have been in his mid-teens, his hair disheveled and eyes blood-shot. How had he been dragged into this? Indebted to the wrong person? Loyalty to the wrong kind of friends? One could guess all day, but both Booth and Brennan knew that this person might be the kind they could reason with. "There's no danger; anyone upstairs will soon be in custody. If you back away we might be able to cut you a deal, you haven't killed anyone yet. We won't hurt you if you come quietly."

"I've got no interest in your deals! I've already done too much, there's no way I'd ever get out again! I might as well just finish it now..." the man looked at Zack and pressed harder with the knife. Zack gasped as a few droplets of his blood ran down his throat. The terror in his eyes betrayed his stony face, silently pleading for help.

"Killing him won't help anyone, especially not yourself. You still have a chance; I suggest you take it." Booth took a step forward.

"Don't come any closer with that gun, or he dies," the man shouted. "Give it to her!"

"Sorry, but that's out of the question-"

"Give her the gun!" His voice had a note of hysteria. Brennan felt her chest tighten; the more upset he was the greater the odds were that he'd hurt Zack.

"Booth, give it to me," she said quietly from behind him.

"What, Bones, are you nuts-?" he started.

"Just do it Booth," she answered softly, then raised her voice deliberately. "I'll shoot the guy if he gets too close." The captor's hand shook slightly. He could hear the truth in her ice-cold words. Booth handed his partner the gun, then started to walk towards Zack and the man.

"You have one last chance; cut Dr. Addy loose and step away, otherwise she shoots." The man's breath was labored and his hands shook violently; particularly the one that held the knife to Zack's throat. Brennan's heart jumped and her hand unconsciously tightened on the gun. The noise from the guns upstairs didn't seem so loud anymore.

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth..." Zack managed to croak out, fear in every syllable.

"Shut up already!" the blonde man shouted at him.

"It's all right," Booth said. "You have ten seconds to do as I said. Ten...nine...eight..." Slowly, the man removed the knife from Zack's throat, then cut the rope around his hands. He began to back away at last. Just when it seemed like they were going to be in the clear, something in the man snapped. His face twisted in anger. Before anyone knew what was happening, he lunged at Zack with the knife. Brennan fired off two shots and he fell. He was dead before he hit the floor. The knife clattered to the ground. Booth let out a sigh of relief and looked over at his partner.

"Good shot," he began, then froze as he saw the color drain out of her face, horrified.

_"No!"_ she shrieked, each breath coming out a gasp. "No, no... Not him; not him!" Booth whipped around, and felt his blood run cold.


	13. Blood and Tears

> _Abandoned Warehouse_

It was like it was all happening in slow motion. The noise from upstairs vanished. All there was now was Zack as he stared down at the gaping hole in his chest. His hands clutched at the knife wound feebly. He looked up at them, a mixture of shock and agony written across his face as he slowly sank to his knees. They ran to Zack and caught him just before he fell to the ground. Booth set him down slowly, Brennan cradling Zack's head in her arms.

"I wasn't fast enough... I shot too slowly-" she choked out.

"This isn't your fault, Bones. I didn't see it coming either; now we just need to stay calm." She took a deep breath and nodded; Booth was right. Zack was still conscious, his breath becoming labored as blood continued to leak through his scarred fingers. He was visibly trembling from the amount of effort it took to keep breathing.

"I knew y-you both would f-find me," Zack attempted a smile, but it came out more as a grimace. "D-did I m-miss anything?" Brennan shook her head, attempting to hold back her tears.

"Don't talk, it's going to be alright," she said, trying to stay strong for him. Zack coughed, and blood leaked out from the corner of his mouth.

"I-I c-can't bre-breathe-" He gasped.

"Hold still, Zack," Booth ordered. Zack nodded and tried to stop shaking. Booth lifted Zack's hands away to examine the wound. "The knife missed his heart, but I can't tell what else it might have hit. Try to keep him awake; I'll radio for help." He unbuckled his vest and tore off a large piece from the bottom of his shirt. Using one hand he pressed it against the wound and tried to stop the bloody tide. He held his comm in his other hand.

_"This is Agent Booth, requesting medical help...Suspect is dead but hostage is badly wounded...Got a knife to the chest...Yes, he's conscious..."_ Her partner's words didn't fully register to Brennan as she carefully, but firmly held Zack's hand in her own.

"Zack, can you hear me? You're going to be okay! Just-just hang on, Booth's got help coming. C'mon! You've gotta stay awake Zack!" she said, trying to come up with encouraging things to say, but her words didn't seem to reach him. Zack's eyes closed halfway, then opened wide. His dark eyes met her green ones and he managed to cough out the words;

"Am I going to die?"

Brennan opened her mouth but no words came out. What was she supposed to say? Should she give him the logic; that he might very well die right then and there? Or was it actually right to lie now? She bit her lip. She would never hesitate with anyone else, but Zack was different; Angela was right, he was family. If it would give him the strength to hold on for the paramedics, then...

"No Zack, you're gonna be fine. Just fine. Don't try and talk. It's going to be alright now, I've got you." Still looking up at her, his eyes slowly closed and his head slumped back against her arm. Panic filled her, so much that at first she couldn't speak.

"Booth..." her voice came out as a strangled squeak. Booth set down his comm and pressed his pointer and middle finger below Zack's jaw to check for a pulse.

"He's unconscious," he said. Brennan nodded, relieved that it wasn't the worse as she'd been expecting, and gave Zack's hand a gentle squeeze. It was well-known that she didn't believe in God, but as she held Zack tightly like he was a child, she (prayed, hoped, wished?) that he would make it.

The next few moments were a complete blur for Brennan. It was as though a shell was wrapped around her, making her numb to sound and touch. She was no longer fighting to bury her feelings, instead just letting her pain wash over her until she could feel nothing else. She tensed when she felt someone start to pull Zack away.

"It's all right, Dr. Brennan, we're getting him to a hospital now," a paramedic said gently. 

Slowly, she let go of Zack. It was like that knife had been stabbed into her own chest. Paramedics were pressing gauze to his wound, placing an oxygen mask over his face, carrying him out of a stretcher. Tears that she wasn't aware of trickled down her cheeks as she watched Zack, her Zack, being taken away. Brennan attempted to get to her feet, slipping in a puddle of blood; Zack's blood. It was splattered and pooled all around her; dripping from her hands, soaking her shirt, seeping into her pants. There was too much blood there; surely a person couldn't lose that much and still survive. Brennan knew she was about to fall, but right now she didn't care. Before she fell though, a pair of hands grabbed her and pulled her up. Strong arms encircled her in a hug, a voice whispering something in her ear.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Bones. I'm here." It was Booth. Finally, all the pain and fear she'd been feeling caught up with her, and she couldn't hold it in. She broke down, sobbing into his chest.

"H-he can't d-die, he j-just c-can't! Zack… I-I can't l-lose him, not a-again!" The rest of the squints burst through the doors. Another agent had told them what happened, but they'd all refused to believe it. Until they saw all the blood on the floor and Brennan crying. Looks of horror were on everyone's faces. Angela buried her head in Hodgins' shoulder and he stroked her hair, his own eyes glittering with held-back tears for his injured friend. Tears ran down Cam's face, which she made no attempt to stem or hide. Sweets was, for once, at a total loss for words. The agents looked at each other awkwardly, but no one tried to make the team leave. They all seemed to understand that this was something they shouldn't interfere with. It would be wrong to intrude on their private grief. So, they decided it was alright to let the squints stay there for a little longer. Besides, Booth would skin them if they attempted to do otherwise.

Finally, it was Hodgins who decided that enough was enough.

"C'mon, let's go. Everyone in the car. Who feels up to driving?" he asked, a determined look on his face. The team blinked at him, their brains sluggish through their misery.

"Where are we going?" Angela sniffed.

Cam was the next to speak, using her best 'boss-lady' voice. "The hospital, of course. We're gonna wait until they let us see Zack. After we make sure he's okay, we'll go back to the lab. One of us will stay there with him, and we'll take shifts. That way as soon as he's ready to wake up, he'll have someone with him. It's like Angela said before; he's family."

"Alright, I agree with Hodgins. Let's get going." Booth looked at his partner. She'd stopped crying a little while ago, but hadn't so much as moved since then.

"Hey Bones, you feeling up to go visit Zack?" he asked gently. Brennan pulled away slowly.

"I'm fine now, Booth," she replied, her voice toneless. She wiped dried tears from her eyes. "We should get going. The agents need to catalogue the identities of the gang members, and collect evidence and what-not." Booth sighed. It was obvious she was still hurting inside, a complete stranger could tell. But she would insist she was fine, as always, and go back to work more at the lab, as always. Once again, she'd managed to put up her barriers, to him and everyone else. When would she ever learn it was all right to cry?

"Everyone pile in, I'm driving!"


	14. Intensive Care Unit

> _Regional Medical Center- Waiting Area_
> 
> _Saturday, 3:45 AM_

Brennan paced back and forth as much as she could in the tiny waiting room. Her eyes were still red, as were everyone else's, and she had a pounding headache. The car ride over had been completely silent, save for a few escaped sobs. When they got to the hospital, the nurses had them all cram into the waiting room and told them to wait. That had been over two hours ago, and no one had told them anything since.

Angela was curled on the small couch, having fallen asleep. One of Hodgins' arms was draped around her, but he seemed to be asleep too. Everyone expected him to have been severely pissed, running around, demanding that they be allowed to see their friend. Instead, he seemed exhausted, drained from the sorrow that had fallen upon them. Cam and Booth sat next to each other, pretending to read months-old paparazzi magazines so used the pages were barely staying together. Sweets followed Brennan's every move with his eyes. This only put her in a worse mood. She hated when he studied her like this. Was it that unusual for her to show emotion? Well, of course it was, but everyone else had been upset too, and for obvious reasons. That didn't mean she was about to have a mental breakdown!

"Sweetie, don't you think you should sit down? You look exhausted," Angela said drowsily, woken from her sleep by the repeated sound of her friend's feet hitting the floor angrily as she paced.

"It's been two hours. Why haven't they told us anything?" Brennan snapped at no one in particular.

"Maybe they've all been abducted by aliens," suggested Hodgins, his eyes still closed. Apparently he hadn't been asleep after all. Cam glared at him, a look which was only improved by her red-rimmed eyes. "Hey, wild conspiracies keep my mind from wandering to more likely reasons! And, just because they're wild doesn't mean they aren't true," he added.

"If it takes two hours, it take two hours sweetie, and there's nothing you can do to speed time up. These are the kinds of doctors that working on _living_ people. They can't fit an emergency surgery into a time box, and I doubt you'd want them to," Angela reasoned. Brennan exhaled impatiently.

"If I have to wait much longer, I swear I'm gonna-" Thankfully, at that moment a doctor came walking through the waiting room doors, and they never knew what she was planning on doing. He looked at the group curiously.

"Are you Dr. Temperance Brennan?" he asked. She nodded tensely. "I'm Dr. John Miller. You and present company are here to see Zachary Addy, correct?"

"Yes, now would you just tell us how he is?" she snapped. The doctor jumped back a bit.

"Don't bite his head off, Bones."

"I'm not, Booth!" said Brennan irately. The doctor cleared his throat nervously.

"The knife blade just missed Dr. Addy's heart, instead piercing his right lung. We were able to repair the damage, but he is being treated with IV's for shock and massive blood loss. His condition is slightly... erratic. It's not looking too good right now; he's in pretty bad shape. In addition, there are bruises covering most of his body and several knife-cuts. He has four broken ribs, a dislocated right shoulder, and possibly a concussion. At the moment he is in ICU."

"Just tell us when we can see him already," Hodgins complained. "That's kinda why we've been waiting here for two hours, _with absolutely no information!_ "

"He won't be conscious, but you can see him right now." Miller called a nurse over. "Show them to Zachary Addy's room." The nurse nodded, then began to walk out of the waiting room.

"Right this way," she said pleasantly, gesturing them to follow. Miller reached out a hand as if to pat Brennan on the shoulder, but one look from her made him think otherwise. He stood aside as the squints, Sweets, and Booth walked after the nurse. She took them down a hallway, past several doors, into the Intensive Care Unit. At last she paused outside a room and opened the door. Brennan, Angela, Cam, and Hodgins rushed in and went to the bed, while Booth and Sweets lingering in the doorway feeling almost like outsiders, unwilling to intrude on the team.

Zack lay unmoving on the hospital bed, his stillness giving the phony illusion of sleep. He was deathly white, which made the countless bruises on his face and arms stand out even more. Underneath the thin hospital gown, they could see bandages covering the right side of his chest. The beeping from the heart monitor was never normal, each of the beats weak and erratic. An oxygen mask obscured Zack's nose and mouth.

"He can't even breathe on his own," Hodgins said softly. "Poor kid. He looks so small, and breakable." Even though Zack was taller than most of them, at the moment he seemed extremely fragile and childlike. Cam touched her hand gently to his cheek.

"Don't worry Zackaroni, you'll be fine. We'll be here for you."

"Everything's gonna be okay, sweetie," Angela said as she carefully held one of his battered hands. 

Hodgins ruffled Zack's dark hair. "Hang in there, Z-man, it'll be alright." 

But Zack didn't stir. The pain on their crushed faces became even more evident. Angela looked at Brennan.

"Aren't you going to say something to him?"

"Would that make a difference?" she asked. "He seems quite unresponsive." Her friend shrugged.

"It wouldn't hurt."

"What am I supposed to say?" Angela smiled wanly.

"Speak from your heart. And yes, I know," she said before Brennan could interrupt. "That 'the heart is an organ, and not capable of speech', or whatever it you always say. Just, think about what Zack would want to hear. What would make him feel better?" Brennan thought for a moment, but all that came to mind was how saying nice things was usually Angela's expertise.

"Um, well..." she looked at their expectant faces. As hard as she tried, there was nothing she could think of that hadn't been already said. A horrible sense of worthlessness began to fill her, something which she hadn't felt since she was a child. "I'm sorry, I just don't know," she said finally in a quiet voice. Booth walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"It's the thought that counts anyway, Bones," he told her. She shrugged her shoulders limply, still wishing there was something she could do. Suddenly annoyed at herself, she pushed those thoughts out of her head. Hot, angry tears pricked the back of her eyelids. Wishing never helped anyone! She thought, taking a moment to calm down.

"Sorry everyone, but when we're ready, we have a lot of work to do back at the lab. Who should stay with Zack first?"

"I will," Angela offered. "Any work I have doesn't need to be done immediately."

"No way," Hodgins shook his head vehemently. "We leave you right now, you'll be a complete mess. It'd be better if you rest for a bit and clear your head first." She was about to argue when Brennan spoke.

"I agree with Hodgins. I'll stay here first." At first it looked like Angela would disagree, but after a moment she nodded. The team decided Brennan would start it out, then after two hours it would move onto Angela, then Cam, and finally Hodgins.

The squints spent a few more minutes standing there quietly before they remembered that they really did have to get back to work. No one wanted to leave, but it was obvious that there was nothing they could do at the hospital; it was all in the hands of the doctors here. There were other ways they could help; there was evidence to catalogue, and now they needed to determine if any of the men in custody might be the Hangman. With the little amount of useful evidence, it was sure to be a long and arduous task.

Angela and Cam each kissed Zack on his forehead and Hodgins gave his hand a last squeeze, before they trooped out of the room silently. Sweets followed them, but Booth stayed there a moment with Brennan.

"Hey, you sure you'll be okay? You don't wanna go home and take a nap or something-?"

"Booth, I'm fine. _I_ was in no way physically injured, remember?" she replied, irritable again.

"I know," replied Booth. "Not injured _physically._ " He patted her arm. "See you in two hours, Bones."


	15. Kinds of Love

_Brennan was all alone in the lab. Everyone else had already gone home, but she had decided to stay and finish up some things. As she walked around, out of the corner of her eye she saw something in blue move. She turned around, and even from behind she could tell it was Zack. He was standing by the door, still in his lab coat._

_"Zack, why are you still here?" she called out, but he didn't answer. He didn't even turn around. That's odd, Brennan thought, and then walked down the stairs over to him. She reached out and grabbed his hand. Finally, he turned around to face her: and she bit back a very uncharacteristic shriek. His skin was the same chalky white color as that of the Zack that now lay in the hospital bed. Dark circles stood out under the eyes that stared at her now; his blank, lifeless eyes._

_"You were too slow," he said in a cold voice. "It's your fault. It's all your fault I'm dead now." Horrified, Brennan felt her eyes drawn toward his chest. It was soaked in blood, streaming from the wound made by the knife that protruded from his body. She tried to speak, but her words just refused to come out. Zack reached up and touched the side of her head with his other hand. Something was wrong with it though. It was a skeleton's hand._

_"You killed me, Dr. Brennan."_

And she woke up with a scream.

> _Jeffersonian Medico-legal Lab_
> 
> _Saturday, 6:15 AM_

Two and a half hours later, Booth was walking back into the Jeffersonian. After having filed as much paperwork as he could stand, he made an excuse, saying he needed to clear up a question with the team. In reality, he was worried about Brennan. He didn't like the idea of her locking herself in her office and working all night, trying to keep away her sadness. Plus, he'd found out some rather unpleasant news. Booth hated to be the bearer of bad news, but the squints had to know.

Booth swiped his ID card and walked past miscellaneous squints and their examination tables, heading for Brennan's office. On his way through, he ran into someone he wasn't expecting to see.

"Hey Angela, I thought you were gonna trade places with Bones after two hours," he said, then noticed the anxious look on her face. "Angela, where's Bones?"

"Still at the hospital. She called a little while ago, and said she would stay there a little while longer. Something about how I had work to do... Booth, I don't _have_ a lot of work." She wrung her hands nervously. "Brennan's really upset, but knowing her she'd never admit it, so she'll just bottle it up inside, which is just going to make her more upset!" Seeing her distress, Booth reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"Don't worry about me, I'm okay," sniffed Angela. On the contrary, she looked anything but 'okay'. Her eyes were red and puffy, most of her makeup had been streaked all over by her tears, and her slightly disheveled hair and clothes only added to the look. Hodgins saw how upset his girlfriend was and ran up to give her a comforting hug. Over her shoulder, he looked at Booth.

"You find something?" he asked.

"Yeah, but it's not good," he shook his head. "The gang leader wasn't in custody. Either he wasn't there, or-"

"That son of a bitch got away!" Hodgins swore so loudly that some of the interns looked over at him nervously. After uttering several more curse words, he seemed to calm down, for the most part. "Hey, you'd better head back over there. Brennan's gonna need her friends right now. We all will." He said the last part softer and caressed Angela's head. She nodded, and then looked at Booth.

"What're you waiting for? Go, now!" she ordered, giving a tearful sniff. Knowing she was right, Booth turned around and walked back out the door.

> _Regional Medical Center- Intensive Care Unit_
> 
> _Saturday, 6:30 AM_

Standing by the door to the ICU room, it was completely quiet inside. Booth poked his head in.

"Bones?" he asked hesitantly. No answer. He looked around, and saw her. Brennan sat by the bed, eyes downcast. Her hair hid her face, but from the slight tremble of her shoulders Booth knew she was crying. He walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. Slowly, she looked up to meet his gaze. "Did something happen? Angela said you decided to stay longer." She shook her head.

"I'm fine," she replied hoarsely.

"Don't be ridiculous; you're a wreck. C'mon Bones, talk to me!" he pleaded, and sat down in the chair beside her. Brennan looked at him hesitantly, and for a moment Booth thought she would refuse, but her anguish proved to be too much.

"A-a little while ago, I fell asleep and… I had this h-horrible d-dream… Zack- Zack… he said it was my fault he was d-dead!" Booth pulled her into a hug, comforting her as she heaved dry sobs. She didn't have enough tears left.

"I'm afraid that if I leave… that as soon as I can't hear the monitor beeping… it'll mean…" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"That's normal, Bones. You love him; it's alright to be scared." In spite of her tears, Brennan still had the energy to look up and give him a very perplexed look.

"Booth, I am _not_ in love with Zack."

"No, not that kind of love!" Booth exclaimed. "There are different kinds of love- like you and Angela love each other because you're best friends. You love Zack because you were his teacher, and it's only natural to become attached to your student." Brennan nodded slowly.

"I think I see what you mean. Even though love is just a chemical reaction in the brain." _Of course._ Booth rolled his eyes, but said nothing. "So… where do we fit into that? As partners," she added hastily.

"Oh, um, well," Booth fumbled. "I guess… we love each other like friends do."

"Yes, of course, like friends," agreed Brennan. They were both quiet now; Brennan resting her head on his shoulder, him with his arms around her. Booth realized suddenly that she hadn't changed out of her bloodied clothes. She had seemed too reluctant to leave Zack before; maybe she just couldn't bring herself to go and change. When they finally left, Booth decided he'd take her back to her apartment instead of going to the lab. Try and convince her how much she needed to rest.

After a few tense minutes of silence, Booth decided she might be ready to leave.

"Well, how's about we head back to the lab now?" he suggested, knowing she would refuse if he'd said where he was really going to drive. He'd never have a chance at reasoning with her here, not when she was still being so irrational as to believe she could still work.

Brennan looked from him to Zack. For a short moment, there was a glint of fear in her eyes. It was small, but Booth knew her so well, he could tell. At first, Booth thought he might have pushed her too soon. Maybe she needed to stay longer. If she did, then he'd stay with her. It was like Hodgins had said before; they'd all need their friends, now more than ever. Brennan reached out a hand and smoothed Zack's hair away from his face.

"You'll be okay. I know it," she said softly, and leaned over to press her lips to Zack's forehead. Then she got up and walked over to the door. Brennan took out her phone and dialed a number.

"Hey Ange, can you come over here and sit with Zack now? It's time I was getting back to the lab." Booth went to her and gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. As long as he stayed with her, he had a feeling she'd be okay.


	16. Past Ghosts

_Where am I? It's dark here; all around me I can see nothing but blackness. Am I in some kind of tunnel? I wonder how that could have happened, how I got here. I can't seem to remember… Wait! I was with Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth. Something happened, something bad. Did someone get hurt? I start walking through the tunnel, feeling around. But there's nothing there to feel, no walls. Even now, I don't really feel the ground through the soles of my shoes. What a strange place. It's not cold here, but it's not warm either. My feet don't make a sound as I walk._

_What happened, and why can't I remember? I have to try to remember, try really hard! But I can't, for some reason. All I can remember is feeling pain. Terrible, searing pain. A pain that consumes you, eating you away until you can't see past it. Almost like when my hands were injured. I never thought I could ever feel that kind of pain again. I keep walking, hoping I can find a way out of this tunnel._

"Dr. Brennan, are you here? Dr. Brennan!" _There's no answer, not even an echo. As I take a step, my foot touches something. I look down, and see what appears to be a thick fog around my feet. I can't see the floor. Leaning down, I fumble for the object. My hands find it, and I lift it up to see._

_It's a skull. Most likely an adult female, Caucasian; I can tell this immediately. But there's something wrong… there's something familiar about its facial structure. Before I can ponder this, the skull's jaw opens-_ and it speaks.

_"What were you thinking Zack? Where did you go wrong?" I know that voice well; the voice that guided me through all my studies, teaching me to be a forensic anthropologist. The skull speaks in Dr. Brennan's voice. There's a creaking of bones behind me, and when I turn around, I see a skeleton watching me._

_"Please, tell me it's not true!" It sounds exactly like a hysterical Angela. Something grabs my leg; a second skeleton has appeared, and I can guess whose voice it will mimic._

_"What is your problem? What possessed you to do this?" Hodgins berates. There's a hand on my shoulder._

_"Zackaroni… how could you?" The skeleton's empty eye sockets stare at me as it talks in Cam's voice._

_"Are you nuts? What happened to helping people? Bringing criminals to justice; ha! You're one of them! A cold-blooded killer, just like your precious 'master'!" a skeleton that sounds like Agent Booth snarls, grabbing the front of my shirt with his bone hand._

"No! I'm not, I'm not! I'm no longer bound to the Master!"

_"But you still call him that. Gormogon - you still call him 'the Master'. Your master." A skeleton that talks like Dr. Sweets rises up from the fog._

"He's not my master! He's dead, and I understand the fault in his logic! I regret it all now, more than anything else!" _They don't listen to me. Instead, they turn to look at something else. Someone shrouded in black approaches me. Fear seeps into me, paralyzing my limbs and joints. He smiles, showing those horrible canine-dentures he tricked me into making._

_"Apprentice, don't you recognize me? Come away from those awful old ghosts. Your place is with your master. There are many terrible people we must rid the world of, no? A few human lives are nothing compared to the whole of humanity. And you, who haven't yet tasted human flesh! My, my, aren't we behind schedule!" His cold laugh seems to cut me to the bone. Logic fails me; I don't know what to do. It's simply not possible for him to be here; Agent Booth killed him over a year ago! Nothing makes sense here. My body takes over, as I break free from the bones and run, the Master's voice still echoing behind me._

_"Running won't do you any good, apprentice! You will never be free of me!" I shove my fingers in my ears, trying to block out the sound. I keep running; this tunnel never ends, does it? When at last I can hear no more, I fall to the ground and curl into a fetal position. Right now, I am more hopeless than I have ever been before; because I know where I am now. This is all a nightmare-world, and there's no hope of escape from inside my own mind._


	17. The Color Blue

> _Regional Medical Center- Intensive Care Unit_
> 
> _Saturday, 7:00 AM_

Shouldering her bag, Angela walked briskly through the hospital hallways, searching for a nurse who would point her in the direction of the ICU room, while she tried to pretend that she wasn't lost.

"Don't worry, you're not lost, you just got a little… turned around. Yeah, that's it," she muttered, looking around a corner. There were two nurses there, deep in conversation. Angela was about to go and ask them for help, when she overheard what they were talking about. Make that _who..._

"You heard about him, then?"

"Of course I did, so has everybody else! That poor boy, he must've been in so much pain!"

"I heard he was tortured.

"No!"

"Bruises and knife-cuts all over his body! I don't know why, but it's got the FBI involved, so it must be big!"

"I heard some of the doctors say it's likely he won't live through the night…" This distressed Angela greatly. No one had told them that! She took a deep breath, telling herself it was probably just a rumor passed along by a bunch of gossipy nurses. It wasn't reason enough to start breaking down and sobbing. Crying would have to wait until she found the room. But this hospital was so huge! Positively a maze of twisting corridors. 

'Better ask them now!' she thought, and walked around the corner.

"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt! I'm Angela Montenegro, and I'm here to see Zack Addy." The nurses stopped talking immediately. One quickly put on a smile.

"Of course, I'll show you where to find the room." Angela hurried after the nurse as she wound her way through the halls, attempting to memorize their order. Soon, they arrived by the door.

"Thank you," Angela attempted a smile.

"Don't worry; I know how confusing this place can be." She started to walk away, then paused and patted Angela on the shoulder. "It'll be okay, dearie." Angela nodded, and the nurse left. The artist squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself, and opened the door. The soft, uneven beeping from the monitor and the hiss of the oxygen tank met her ears. Sighing, she realized that as expected, nothing had changed. She walked over to one of the chairs and sat down, attempting to look at anything but Zack. After a couple of seconds, she realized just how hopeless that was, and forced herself to look at him. He looked just as he had a few hours ago. Bruised and battered. Chalky skin with dark shadows under his eyes. Bandages running along the cuts in his arms. The lower half of his face covered by an oxygen mask. Hooked up to machines, with tubes stuck into his arms.

Once again, Angela found herself wondering what kind of horrible person could to this to another human being. Of course, that was the big question, wasn't it? Who was the Hangman, and why couldn't he be found? How many other poor souls had he murdered, who were yet to be discovered? Had he learned how to cover his tracks through sheer _practice?_ Her head started to spin and she felt nauseated. She fought to clear her mind and retain some degree of calmness.

Angela opened her bag and pulled out the blanket she had brought with her. Zack's pale face had made her wonder if he was cold in the air-conditioned hospital room. In the back of her mind, she knew it was from losing so much blood; but she preferred to think it was the other reason. She covered him with it, careful not to touch his wounds. Gingerly, Angela picked up his arms, arranging them in a comfortable position over the blanket. It was dark blue, like their Medico-legal lab coats. Zack never said if he had a favorite color, but Angela guessed that if it didn't seem too illogical to him, he would like blue the best. Blue represented the lab coats that they wore at the Jeffersonian, the place they all felt as a second home where some of their closest friends were. Alone in the quiet, Angela found herself prone to randomly thinking about different things. Such was the case now.

She thought about how even though their work was gruesome, there was a satisfaction in what they did.

She thought about them all laughing and enjoying each other's company, and making jokes at Booth's expense.

She thought about how someone would make a reference to something from pop culture, and the identical clueless looks Brennan and Zack would give them.

She thought about how they would all sometimes go out and eat at Wong-Fu's or the Royal Diner after a case.

She thought about how after Zack had left, the team suddenly stopped doing things like that; and how when he had come back they had resumed.

She thought about how now with the blue blanket Zack looked calmer, more peaceful. Like he had just fallen asleep on a couch in one of their offices after a long, arduous day of examining bones.

Angela smiled; and then burst into tears.


	18. The Pool of Blood

_I remember that when my hands were blown up, the medication they gave me at the hospital caused strange dreams. Horrible, even. A skeleton on fire would reach out and grab my hand, and despite the painkillers, I could feel my hands burn. Dreams are a series of mental images and emotions occurring during sleep. They are caused when the mind is still active during sleep, and in an attempt to make sense of the day's events, it puts together thoughts and memories randomly. This is a perfectly logical explanation. But that doesn't mean they are any less frightening._

_Just as my dreams are now. If I could remember what happened, I might be able to understand why I am experiencing dreams similar to the ones caused by the hospital medications. And yet, the memories remain locked away, unable to be retrieved. So in the meantime, my mind has chosen to prey on that awful mistake I made, which nearly destroyed my life. Supposedly, if you realize you're in a dream, you can change it or wake yourself up. Obviously, that theory is useless._

_I lie in the dark, dreading when the next images will start. Will I see the Master again? I know that I should have stopped referring to him that way a long time ago; but I can't seem to make myself. It's likely that even though he's dead, the memory of him still controls me somewhat. No one at the lab talks about him, because they don't wish to bring about memories that are emotionally painful to them. My family does the same. They choose to act like it never happened, and attempt to treat me the same as before. But I know that it's still there in the back of everyone's minds. I can never forgive myself for hurting my parents, my siblings, and my friends._

_Out of nowhere, the images begin again. The fog on the ground peels away, changing into a stone floor. The blackness around me is replaced by a room; a room I never thought I would ever have to see again. I recognize it as the basement from his house. It appears large and empty, at first. I scan the room, reaching out to touch the old walls. There's nothing there to touch._

"It's not real. This is proof. No matter what I see, it's not real," _I whisper to myself. The skin on the back of my neck prickles like a cold wind has been breathed upon it. Whatever is behind me will be horrible, I can tell. I'm forced to turn around, as if by an invisible hand. At the back of the room lies a large heap of twisted, bloodied bodies. I recognize the bodies, all of them; my family. I fight the images, trying to force them to go away. But they're too horrible, too real. I forget that it's all a dream and run to them._

"Mom, Dad!" _I cry, shaking my parent's corpses, half-hoping they will start to move like the skeletons previously. But they don't stir. All of my sisters and brothers and their children, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles and cousins; all my family is here. I hear a whimper. Behind me, my youngest niece Emma lies in chains. Her dark, curly hair is tangled, and dirt is smeared on her round face and frilly little-girl dress. She looks terrified. She's only six; how could someone do this to a child? I move towards her to remove the bonds._

_"No, please don't! Please Unca Zack, don't hurt me!" she screams and starts crying, shrinking away from me. I pull back, confused._

"What-? It's just me. It's all right now, I'm here Emmie." _If anything, her screams increase in volume. Fear seeps across the room like tendrils of fog. A chill runs down my spine. No, please no! I don't want to see him again, I don't want to be tortured by memories any longer! It's him; the Master. He walks across the floor, approaching quickly. I try to shield Emma from him with my body. He stops right before us, and gives me what's meant to be perplexed look. But his grin is too wide to disguise. Hatred boils within me. He's killed my family, and he has the gall to smile?_

_"Now, now; stop playing silly games, apprentice. It's time for you to finish the job!" I look down, and in my hands I grip a bloody ax. My arms and clothes are soaked in blood. Horrified, I understand now. He didn't kill them all; I did. I attempt to drop the weapon, but my hands will not release it. Against my will, I turn back to Emma. Emma, my youngest, sweetest niece. Back in Michigan, whenever my brother and my sister-in-law needed to leave her with someone, they always asked me because they know how much she likes me. I've never understood why, but apparently she finds me funny. There's no trace of laughter in her eyes now._

_My arms rise against my wishes. I can't stop them, there's nothing I can do. Because that's what you are in a nightmare-world; powerless. Completely, and utterly powerless to stop the disasters that unfold before your eyes._

"It's not real! None of this is real!" _I shout, trying to make it all stop. Emma shrieks. My arms come down…_

_It's all over remarkably quickly. Then I'm on my hands and knees in the pool of my family's blood. Only now can I release the ax. My arms tremble, making little ripples on the surface of the pool. I stare at the blood, and see my own reflection. I can't stand the sight of myself, so I try to close my eyes. Which is completely pointless, of course! I might feel angry, if I wasn't so consumed with hopelessness. No matter what I do or how hard I try, I'm trapped! A scuffed boot slaps down in the blood, obliterating my reflection. It's him again. He reaches out and pulls my face up, forcing me to look at him._

"Why?" _I whisper._ "Why did you choose me?"

_"Because I needed a spy, of course. Someone on the inside, someone weak."_

"I'm not…" _I start to argue, but my voice dwindles into nothing._

_"And yet, you alone were corrupted. But you have done well. Emotional attachments are our downfall. It is necessary to eliminate them; which you have done just now." I know now that I can't fight him. He's not real, but the memory of him is too strong._

"Make it stop," _I beg._ "I just want it all to stop!" _The Master laughs, then releases my head. His boot flies up and kicks me in the chest, sending me backwards. Pain sears in my chest and for a moment I can't breathe. I lie sprawled in the blood, unmoving. I no longer have enough energy to do anything to fight anymore. When will it ever end?_

_"Get back up!"_

_"Don't let him control you, sweetie,"_

_"Dude, just fight him already!"_

_"You don't have to listen to him, Zackaroni,"_

_"Gorgonzola doesn't have power over you anymore!"_

_"It's all in your head. This doesn't have to be a nightmare."_

_Voices hiss in my ears, but I don't see anything. But, with each word, strength returns to me. Slowly, I clamber to my feet. He stares at me, this time with real confusion._

_"Haven't you had enough, apprentice?" he asks. My hands clench into fists._

"You are dead," _I state._ "And you have been dead for more than a year. I am Zack Addy, not your 'apprentice'. I work at the Jeffersonian Institute as a forensic anthropologist. I have friends, and I will never let some sociopath tell me otherwise ever again! You don't control me, and I won't be tortured by you in dreams any longer! I am someone, and you are nothing, _Gormogon!_ " _He stumbles back, shock written across his face. His canine dentures are no longer bared in a smile. The pool of blood I'm standing in shrinks into nothingness, replacing the dirty stone floor as it goes with clean, white linoleum. The walls of the nightmare-world basement fall away, along with Gormogon and the corpses. In their place new walls form, familiar walls. Instead of darkness, everything is lit up. I'm on the platform at the lab in the Jeffersonian. Before me stand my second family; Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth, Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and Sweets. At first, I fear they will yell at me like the skeletons of them did before. Instead, they… smile at me? After a moment, I find my voice again._

"What happened?" _I ask softly._

_"He's gone; forever. You did it, Zack. You won."_


	19. Phone Call

> _Regional Medical Center- Intensive Care Unit_
> 
> _Saturday, 7:00 AM_

After her time watching Zack was up, Angela declared she couldn't stay at the lab any longer and went home. Cam, for one, couldn't blame her. She'd watched her team's spirits slowly sink by the hour. They were exhausted, both in mind and body, and Cam had done everything to get them to leave; besides firing them, of course. But still, each of them had insisted they had a job to do. Over the past few hours though, they'd learned nothing of use.

The FBI identified the man who stabbed Zack as Brian West, age seventeen. He had two counts of drug charges, but other than that there wasn't much. He was just a ratty gang member following orders, no one of importance to the Executioners. And yet this man had caused so much suffering to the squints.

No one in custody or the morgue could be of any use either. The living didn't have a clue who their leader was, and from what she could tell the dead wouldn't talk to them either. Nothing for Hodgins to pinpoint a frequently visited location, nothing for Brennan to use, or Angela, or Cam. Nothing! They had nothing to go on, and Cam was getting sick of it. All she could think of was Zack lying in the hospital bed before her, while they scrambled to make something out of the nothing they were given.

Cam sighed and rubbed her temples. She'd been running on coffee for a while and she could feel herself starting to come down from the caffeine buzz, which she knew was bound to happen sometime. She had just hoped it wouldn't happen now. It had been her turn to stay with Zack for over an hour now. Every time she looked at him, bruised and white as a sheet, hooked up to machines; it hurt her deeply. Cam had tried to think of something, tried to stay positive. But all she could do was hold his hand. At least she could do that now, unlike the last time… She pushed that thought out of her head. Now wasn't the time to start thinking of those things.

The shrill _'ring'_ from her cell phone helped pull her away from her reverie. Digging through her purse, she managed to find it one-handed, because the other hand was holding Zack's limp one. Flipping the phone open, she saw it was her foster daughter, Michelle. The team wasn't allowed to talk about ongoing investigations, and Zack's injuries were part of that. She'd called her earlier and for once was relieved that Michelle didn't pick up. It meant less explaining had to be done right then, and maybe when Cam had to talk to her, Zack's condition would have improved. Clearly, it hadn't. She put the phone to her ear.

_"Hey Cam, I got your message! Sorry I didn't pick up; we wound up staying out even later at the movies than we thought. Don't worry, it's no big deal; one of my friends said I can stay with her. Her mom's fine with it by the way,"_ Michelle chattered on the other end.

"That-that's great," Cam answered, stammering a little as she got her voice to work again. "I'm sorry again that I didn't come home last night, and that I've still been away most the day. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't be alone."

_"Is something wrong? You sound upset,"_ she questioned, slightly concerned. The exhaustion and worry in her foster-mother's voice was evident, even over the phone.

"No!" Cam said, a little too hastily. "Um, no, everything's all right here, it's all fine…" Her voice dwindled as she realized how bad her lying was right now.

_"Someone's dead, aren't they?"_ said Michelle softly.

"No one's died!" Cam replied quickly. "Everyone's alive, it's just… someone got hurt. I can't tell you how; ongoing investigation rules and everything!" She tried to keep her tone light, attempting to convince her it wasn't too bad, even though it was.

_"Can't you tell me who?"_ Michelle asked. Cam took a sharp breath. It wasn't that she wasn't permitted to; it was that she wasn't sure it she could bring herself to say it. Merely saying Zack's name was difficult enough for her. But Michelle deserved an answer. After a moment, she forced herself to say it.

"Zack," Her voice came out hoarse and she felt a tear slide down her cheek, even as she fought to stay in control. At first, everything was quiet on the other end too. "It's Zack. H-he was hurt pretty badly. It doesn't look too good,"

_"Oh god… Cam, I'm so sorry,"_ Michelle's whisper was barely audible. "Are you okay?" Cam brushed away her tears.

"I'll be fine, I'm just tired. Busy day, and all."

_"Just, make sure you get some sleep, alright?"_ asked Michelle, slightly nervous.

"Hey, don't worry about it!" Cam struggled to be positive for her sake. "Who knows; maybe he'll be better in the morning. You just take care of yourself. I didn't mean to upset you."

_"News travels fast, I would've heard something about it anyway."_ Cam smiled slightly. Now it was her daughter who was trying to take care of her! _"Hey, I'll keep my fingers crossed for him. Bye."_

"Yeah, bye now," she said softly and hung up. Hesitant at first, she reached out and ruffled Zack's floppy hair. She wasn't sure why she'd done it, but it just seemed right. It made her remember how only a couple of days ago, she and Angela had been teasing Zack about his hair, saying it was getting to look like a mop again and that a jury wouldn't take him seriously. He'd nodded and said he was planning on getting it cut over the weekend, with such a serious look on his face they couldn't help laughing. With a slight jolt, Cam realized there was a possibility that that wouldn't happen.

Sighing, Cam leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She was so exhausted it was almost impossible to stay awake. After a couple minutes, she drifted off, still holding Zack's hand.


	20. Triumph

_I don't say anything at first, and no one says anything back. What do they mean 'you won'? I won what?_

"I don't understand," _I say slowly, thinking what they said over._

_"All this time, you've been tortured by the memory of Gormogon. But that's all he is- a memory." Dr. Brennan explains._

_"Even though he's dead, you were still afraid of him." Hodgins says._

_"Or more accurately, you were afraid of what he could make you do," Dr. Sweets ignores the glare Hodgins gives him. "He could convince you to do that which under normal circumstances, you would never have even considered."_

_"But now, you've finally shown yourself that you are strong." Cam continues._

_"We all love you, Zack. I don't know how many times we have to say it before it sinks in!" Angela laughs. "None of what you did before matters now."_

_"She means it. Seriously, you wouldn't believe how peppy they all were when they found out you were coming back. Even Bones here!" jokes Agent Booth._

_"I don't even know what peppy means!" She punches him in the shoulder, in what I believe is meant to be a playful manner._

_"The point is that we're all a family. We've gotta look out for our baby brother, right?" asks Hodgins._

"Because I am obviously not an infant, am I correct is saying you mean that because everyone sees me as the youngest and least experienced, you all feel the need to be protective of me? But, I'm older than Sweets!" _He rolls his eyes._

_"Dude, rhetorical question!" They laugh, but not at me. Cam looks at her watch._

_"Oops, that time already! Hey, we've got a deadline people!" She says, as business like as if we were preparing evidence to testify a case in court. Everyone nods. I don't understand why though._

"What deadline?" _Dr. Brennan looks back at me._

_"Zack, you do realize what's happening here, don't you?" she queries._

"I do, yes. This is all a dream."

_"Exactly. We're not really here, but we do mean everything we've said. You might not realize it, but part of your mind has, and put the images of us together. When badly injured, the body must sleep to heal itself, before the mind can awaken and deal with the pain. And now, you're ready. You're ready to wake up, Zack," she explains._

"But I still don't understand!" _I exclaim, for I have no recollection of any recent injuries._

_"Eh, what else is new?" Agent Booth shrugs. Sweets motions me over to a desk._

_"Remember this?" He points down at a picture on it. It's a blurred crime-scene photo. It seems to jog something in my memory. I've seen this before; of that, I'm sure. I start to remember vaguely some of the latest case; but more importantly, what it is I discovered. There it is, in the corner of the photo, just as before._

"The knife?"

_"You have to tell them about it. Whatever else happens, they have to know about the knife." He states, his voice firm. I nod, even though I still don't remember everything that has transpired. Dr. Brennan pulls me into an uncharacteristically emotional hug. When she lets go, she puts her hands on my shoulders and stares me in the eyes._

_"It's time to wake up now."_


	21. Wakey Wakey

> _Regional Medical Center- Intensive Care Unit_
> 
> _Saturday, 9:30 AM_

Hodgins wanted to be pissed as all get out. He wished he could just shout and rage at the top of his lungs without giving a crap who saw. Why the hell did Zack have to run out to the crime scene? He couldn't have at least _told_ them what it was that had gotten him so frickin' excited? Hodgins wanted to be able to be mad, because it meant he would be too busy to feel guilty. Maybe if he'd tried to stop him, Zack wouldn't have gone out. Maybe if he'd analyzed the particulates better, they'd have found the warehouse faster. Maybe Booth and Brennan would've gone in sooner if he hadn't made a fuss about not being allowed to come. Maybe, maybe, _maybe!_

But the simple fact was that Hodgins just felt too drained. It was as if the fear he felt for his friend's life took the place of any ability to be angry. He got the feeling that that it should annoy him, but it didn't.

Hodgins had been sitting by Zack's bed for over an hour and a half now, growing increasingly tired. Not physically, though he was exhausted just like everyone else. He couldn't think straight. It was like he was being asked to read a book blindfolded; no matter how much he wanted it, it wasn't possible. At first, he'd tried rambling to Zack about different particulates he's found that under normal circumstances he'd have been thrilled with, but it wouldn't work. Eventually, he'd been resigned to sit in a chair and wait his two hours out. He kept trying to ignore the fact that the noisy machines next to him were the only thing keeping his best friend alive.

"Y'know, if you die, I'll kill you," he muttered halfheartedly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something flicker. Were his eyes playing games with him? He stared at Zack intently. No, it must have been the light. He settled back in his chair, feeling a pang of disappointment.

"I've been up for too long," he sighed. And then, he saw it again; on top of the blue blanket, Zack's fingers were feebly twitching. He froze, and for a moment it was if time froze along with him, watching and waiting.

"Zack…" Hodgins whispered, shocked. At first, nothing happened. Then, Zack's eyes fluttered open and met his own. At first, Hodgins was speechless, but then forced his voice to work.

"Hey, wakey-wakey! I think you've overslept!" he joked weakly, and for a moment, Hodgins felt his spirits soar. Zack was awake; he was going to make it! But his good mood quickly plummeted. The oxygen mask made it impossible for Zack to talk, but Hodgins heard a slight whimper. The hands that had previously lain so limply on the covers were now balled into fists so tight the blotchy skin turned a uniform white shade. His limbs shook visibly, and with each breath he was clearly in agony. Zack's dark eyes were filled with immense pain. A tear crept out and slid down his black-and-blue cheek. His pain was so obvious, Hodgins felt his own heart wrench, but he squeezed his friend's hand. There wasn't much he could do personally, but at least he could find someone who could ease Zack's suffering. He twisted around in his chair and shouted for a nurse, then looked back at Zack.

"Hang in there, Z-man, someone's coming." After a few seconds, a nurse appeared. As soon as she saw that Zack was awake, she darted in and pushed Hodgins away. Ignoring his squawks of protest at this sudden rudeness, she pressed down a small button on one of the machines. Almost immediately, Zack's eyelids started to sink closed. For a moment, they flickered back open; but this didn't last long, and soon his eyes closed again. His labored breathing calmed, and the whimpers of pain ceased. He was once again asleep, dead to both his pain and the world around him. The nurse let out a sigh of relief, then turn to glare at a very confused Hodgins.

"What did you do?" she asked, accusatorily.

"Nothing, I swear!" he cried. The nurse looked back at the heart monitor, and her eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh my," she whispered. Hodgins frowned.

"What now? Why'd you press that button?"

"There was a danger that the pain would cause him to go into shock. The button released a sedative that will keep him asleep for another hour," she waved her hand dismissively. "That doesn't matter now, though. See? His vitals have all leveled out! We didn't expect it, but look at that!" exclaimed the nurse, pointing at the beeping line that was Zack's heart. Sure enough, it had gone from weak and erratic to a more even, stronger pace. Hodgins stared at it, stunned.

"So, does that mean-?" he began hesitantly.

"-he'll most likely wake up after the sedative has worn off, and will be able to remain awake with little risk of going into shock. We'll be giving him some less intense pain killers. They might make him feel kind of foggy and numb, but he'll be conscious." The nurse finished for him.

"Then, can I stay here a little longer?" he questioned. Shrugging, she said;

"I don't see why not. If you'll excuse me, I have to inform Dr. Miller of this." And then left, flashing him a quick smile over her shoulder. Hodgins looked over at Zack again, and bit back a grin. They weren't out of the woods yet.

Quickly, he pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial.

"C'mon, pick up pick up pick up!" he hissed impatiently. After a few moments, someone answered. "Boy, do I have some great news!"


	22. Titanic

_It feels as if I'm being dragged away. One moment, I'm facing Dr. Brennan in the lab; the next, I'm being pulled in the opposite direction, like a ship's anchor being pulled up from the bottom. I remember reading once that if people attempted to remove the RMS Titanic from the Atlantic Ocean, the decrease in water pressure would cause it to quickly fall apart. That's what it feels like now. I'm falling apart. Pain starts to build in my chest where Gormogon kicked me. It starts out dull, and then builds as I'm pulled further away. I can't see my friends anymore. The pain is growing rapidly, to the point where I can barely take it. I feel I'll scream._

_Then it feels like I've hit a wall. I've stop being dragged away, and now it's just darkness. Every inch of my body aches, but more than anything my chest hurts. I gasp for air, and it's shoved up my nose and mouth, dry and smelling of hospital antiseptics. My limbs feel like they're made of lead, too heavy to move. I hear a shrill beeping from somewhere in the room, or wherever I am. I try to open my eyes, but even my eyelids feel too heavy. But I have to know where I am! I have to find my friends and tell them about the knife! I force my eyes to open. Light blinds me, and the noises seem to multiply. There's a garbled noise to the side of me, but I can't make it out. Everything hurts too much. I can hardly think!_

_I attempt to focus on the source of the noise. It sounds almost like a voice. Someone's next to me, but everything looks blurred. I try to speak, but something is blocking my mouth, the same thing forcing air down my throat. There's only pain, all around me. I feel like I'm going to die. My vision is obscured temporarily as some watery liquid fills my eyes, and then runs down my cheeks. Tears? It's been so long since I've truly cried. But feeling this way would certainly be reason enough for them. The person grabs my hand and says some more, but I can't seem to understand. Pain, too much pain! But the hand that grips my own isn't trying to hurt me, and even though I don't know what the person is saying, the tone of voice suggests the words are meant to be comforting. But how can I be calm when I hurt so much?_

_Another figure rushes in and pushes the person away. The new person leans past me, reaching for something. The pain continues to rage on; at first. I can almost feel myself falling backwards into that dark void I only just left. My chest doesn't hurt as much anymore and now my eyes begin to close again. A part of me longs for it, longs for the darkness and empty nothingness that it is made up of. A different part struggles against it, remembering something through all the hurt. No, I have to stay awake! I have to tell them about the knife. But I can't seem to think straight… Me, not think straight! The idea is almost laughable; Zachary Addy, the former child prodigy, the brilliant forensic anthropologist, not capable of organizing my own thoughts! But I don't feel like laughing; I feel more like crying. The room starts to darken, and sounds grow faint again, no matter how vainly I fight against it. At last, I know the battle has been won. Not by me, but by the empty darkness. Is Gormogon to win after all? Such thoughts are worse than the pain I am leaving behind. I know now can't fight it any longer…_

_My eyes close, but for the first time through this whole ordeal, I don't dream._


	23. Always

> _The Royal Diner_
> 
> _Saturday, 9:45 AM_

Before they'd left the hospital, a nurse had given Brennan some clothes to change into out of her bloodied ones. Booth had attempted to take Brennan home, but as soon as she realized what he was planning she refused vehemently. And since Booth wouldn't take her back to the lab, they'd wound up going to the diner. She'd been against it, but he had insisted she eat something.

So now they sat at their usual booth, picking at their food. Booth had attempted conversation, but Brennan met everything he said with silence. Eventually, he'd run out of topics. Resigned to the fact that she wasn't going to talk to him, he shut up and ate his pie, which didn't seem to taste as good as it did when she argued how unhealthy it was. The silence between them was so uncomfortable, that even some of the employees had noticed and were now betting on the reason.

"Do you remember when he finally earned his doctorate, and we all celebrated by eating here?" Brennan asked suddenly, still staring down at her coffee. The fact that she only said 'he' instead of 'Zack' wasn't lost on Booth.

"Yup, and Hodgins made him wear that stupid hat," Booth chuckled. "Completely weirded the waitress out. I think that must've been the first time I saw the kid smile." Brennan had never told him that one of the things that had made Zack so happy was when Booth had patted him on the shoulder with an open hand. According to him, it was a way of showing pride in an individual. Zack looked up to Booth almost as much as he did to Brennan. Of course, she'd never honestly believed psychology was a real science, but Zack apparently thought some of it to be true.

"He's very professional. That was one of the first things I noticed when I was deciding who would be my grad student."

"The first thing I noticed was that he was annoying, with no social skills. Not that that's a crime," he added. The corner of Brennan's lips twitched in what might have been the weak beginnings of a smile.

"I don't think he ever understood why you wouldn't answer the questions he posed you. He was very confused when you threatened to shoot him between the eyes if he asked you again."

"They were always sex questions!"

"There's nothing wrong with being curious; he is an adult after all," answered Brennan.

"He's not the awkward kid you taught forensics to anymore, huh?" Booth said.

"No. No, he's not." She looked away, staring off into space. The silence resumed. Booth could tell exactly what she was thinking about right now.

"If anything happens, it's not your fault, Bones," he told her. "You couldn't have done anything."

"If I'd shot Brian West sooner, he wouldn't have stabbed Zack!" she cried, whipping her head back to look at him. "And now, Zack's dying in a hospital bed while I sit here helpless!"

"Don't say that. He's still got a chance," he replied. Brennan shook her head.

"I almost lost him once, Booth. What if I lose him again, this time forever?" The desperation in her voice broke through. Booth reached across the table and grabbed her hand.

"You won't, Bones, and do you know why? Because Zack is one determined guy. He always fights for what he wants, whether it's the honor of being your grad student, getting his doctorate, or finding a murderer. Or living," she met his eyes, and after a moment nodded.

"Alright. Your logic is sound," Brennan smiled; a little sadly, but it was still a smile. "Thanks for always being here. As overly dramatic as it sounds, sometimes I honestly don't know what I'd do without you to support me." Booth blinked, a little stunned at her sudden emotional words. He quickly recovered.

"I'll always be here when you need me. That's a promise, Bones. Always." This time, her smile was a little happier.

"I'll hold you to it." Her cell phone rang, causing them to bolt apart. She dove into her purse and pulled it out. She looked up at Booth. "It's Hodgins,"

"Aw, c'mon, what stuff could he have found that's so important he needs to call you now?" Booth crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat, annoyed.

"Hodgins isn't at the lab now; he's with Zack," she said quietly. Booth's irritation vanished and he uncrossed his arms, waiting for what she was going to do. After a moment of hesitation, she answered it.

"Hey, Hodgins. What is it?" Brennan asked, a nervous edge in her voice. "Wait, slow down! … Really? … You're positive? … Of course I don't think you're mistaken-! … That's- that's great! … No, Angela and Cam went home a little while ago. … Of course, I'll be right over!" Booth listened anxiously to the half of the conversation he could hear, resisting the urge to interrupt. "All right then. Yeah, good night to you too." She hung up and looked back at Booth, a wide grin on her face.

"Let me guess…" Booth smiled at her.

"Zack woke up, temporarily. They gave him more medication to keep him from going into shock, but it looks like he's going to be okay! He's asleep now. I'm going to go over and sit with him."

"You got it, Bones," Booth got up and quickly paid for their food. Then, they were out the door.


	24. Remembering

> _Regional Medical Center- Intensive Care Unit_
> 
> _Saturday, 10:00 AM_

"You sure you don't want me to stay?" Booth asked. They were standing outside the closed door in the ICU. Brennan shook her head.

"No, Booth. It's now officially your weekend with Parker, I don't want to keep you from that," she said. "I'll be fine."

"That's what you always say," he argued, intending to stay with her. But then, she gave him a _look_. One that clearly said this was a time she needed to be by herself. And, maybe she was right. He'd been worrying about her constantly, and now she needed a bit of elbow room. Now, she needed to stay with Zack. "All right, if that's what you want."

"Of course it is, that's why I said so," Brennan turned to the door, and was stopped by Booth's hand on her shoulder.

"Just, remember what I said. He's gonna be OK." He patted her back, then stepped away. "If you need me at any point, I'll have my cell." She nodded, feigning a smile.

"I know. I can always count on you." Then, waving goodbye to her, he walked away. Brennan opened the door and walked in.

Inside, the first thing that hit her was the heart monitor. Its beeps were now much calmer and rhythmic. It hadn't occurred to her before how wonderful the human heart could sound. Instead of the full mask, a simple oxygen tube was around Zack's head. This was clearly a good sign; he was able to breathe more on his own. Some splotches of color had returned to his cheeks. He was still very pale, but not as white as before. But aside from the slight rise and fall of his chest, he didn't move.

Brennan went over and sat down in one of the chairs. She would never have admitted it under usual circumstances, not even to herself; but right now, she felt slightly foolish. It wasn't a large feeling, more of the kind that sits there quietly in the back of your mind, taunting you. Of course Zack wouldn't be awake immediately, Hodgins had said the nurse gave him medication. But she couldn't help feeling upset. She'd been so excited and relieved that he was going to make it, that she'd almost been expecting him to be looking up at her right now. Tears started to build up behind her eyes. Annoyed with herself, she brushed them away, but they still came back. She could almost hear Booth's voice. _'This is what it's like when you care about someone. Don't shove those feelings away.'_ It sounded exactly like something he'd say. What's worse, he was probably right.

Brennan set her head down on the blanket by Zack's hand. She realized, somewhat detachedly, that it was blue like their lab coats. Instantly, she knew Angela was the one who brought it in. That was just the kind of thing she would do. Yawning slightly, Brennan realized just how tired she was. Booth had been right about that too…

Brennan didn't know how long she had been asleep, and at first she didn't realize why she had woken up in the first place. Her eyes felt grainy and her cheeks were slightly sticky from her tears. Brennan was very reluctant to open her eyes. A dreamless sleep was much more preferable than the nightmare that was occurring in the waking world. Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks, but she ignored them. Crying had become a much easier thing to do over the several hours that had past. She shifted a bit, trying to get a little more comfortable, wishing for sleep to return quickly. Just before she drifted off again, Brennan felt something just barely brush against her head. Frowning, she decided she must've been mistaken and ignored it. But then it happened a second time, and this time the touch was slightly stronger. Brennan turned her head, and her eyes opened a fraction of an inch; and then flew open wide. She froze; shocked as the dark eyes of Zack Addy met her own green ones. His eyes were only half open as he watched her, but he was clearly conscious. Brennan found herself dumbstruck, scrambling to put a coherent thought together.

"Why are you crying?" Zack's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" she exclaimed, bolting up in her seat. Why the hell would he think that? If anyone was at fault here, it was her. Her voice softened. "No, not at all, Zack." She reached out and stroked the side of his face gently, careful of the bruises. He relaxed slightly, seemingly more at ease.

"What am I doing here?" he asked. "I have no recollection of what happened." Brennan raised her eyebrows.

"You don't remember?" He shook his head, and winced. Instantly, she twisted around to call for a nurse, but she was stopped by Zack's hand on her arm.

"No, please don't. I'm fine," he lied. Brennan gave him a stern look. "If they give me pain killers, it will cause more dreams. I don't want to dream anymore." The look he gave her was so piteous she obliged.

"What kind of dreams?" she asked softly. At first, he seemed unwilling to tell her, but after thinking it over he answered.

"Nightmares. Really horrible nightmares. Gormogon making me do awful things," his weak voice shook slightly at the memory. "But, then you and everyone told me he was just a memory, and I caused him to disappear. I don't think I'll dream of him again." Brennan didn't understand what he was talking about, but one thing she did know was that this was the first time in quite a while that she'd heard Zack not refer to Gormogon as 'the Master'.

"How do you feel?" she asked softly. "Be honest; I'll know if you're lying." _Everyone_ could tell when Zack lied; he was pretty bad at it. Knowing she was right, he answered truthfully.

"Every part of me hurts," Zack rasped. "But it's not as bad now."

"They gave you medication. The nurse said it would make you sleep, and would help with the pain," explained Brennan. He nodded a little and gave her a shaky smile. Brennan continued to hold her hand to his cheek; it seemed like her touch comforted him, though neither of them really knew why. Zack sighed and closed his eyes, but Brennan could tell he was still awake. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. He was so fragile and weak right now; it seemed as if a touch would cause him to shatter into a million pieces. She stayed quiet, listening to the sound of his light, even breathing, and feeling incredibly thankful for it. There was silence, but it was calming and peaceful, instead of the fearful kind that had filled the room before.

Zack frowned suddenly, and his eyes opened again.

"Dr. Brennan, the knife!" he said anxiously.

"Don't worry about it. It's okay, Zack; you're going to be fine," Brennan explained calmly. He frowned and blinked, puzzled.

"What do you mean?" Her breath caught in her throat. "The victim had a _knife_ ," he explained (and very poorly, at that). Now it was Brennan who was confused.

"What are you talking about? Zack, you've sustained major injuries; you need to rest," she said gently. He looked exhausted and was obviously in pain, but he talked like it didn't matter.

"Not now; I found something important," he said wearily. "The gang member who was murdered had a knife. He stabbed his assailant with it before he died, and it's still in the alley. I found it in one of the photographs. We need to go over there and find it; it will still have the Hangman's blood on it!" Before Brennan could say anything, Zack tried to push himself up in the bed. He cried out and fell back on the pillows, clutching at his chest.

"Just lie still, you're alright!" she said, taking his hand as she attempted to keep her voice gentle and soothing. Zack stared down at his chest, covered in bandages. He looked back up at her, eyes wide with hurt and panic, shaking from the sudden burst of adrenaline.

"What happened, Dr. Brennan?" he exclaimed between gasps. "I can't remember anything!" She pressed her forehead against his with her hands on either side of his head. It was obvious to her how desperately he needed a comforting hug, and Brennan hated that she couldn't give him one right now. It hurt him where she touched the bruises on the side of his face, but at the same time it was calming just to have her there.

"It's all over, everything's alright," she whispered in his ear, still holding him. When his tremors ceased, she let go and sat back, clutching his hand. Taking a breath, she knew she had to explain what had happened. "After you found something, you left the lab to go visit the crime scene. Do you remember?" He nodded a little, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"Up to there, yes. But nothing after that,"

"While you were there," she hesitated, hating the words that were coming out of her mouth. "You were kidnapped by members of the Executioners. They brought you back to an abandoned warehouse, and… and proceeded to torture you for almost five hours straight. We were able to find the location through various particulates we found. But, when we got there…" She bit her lip, not entirely sure how to say it. "Before Booth and I could rescue you, one of the Executioners stabbed you in the chest, puncturing your right lung. You've been comatose for the past seven hours." Zack's expression had become unreadable as he processed what he'd been told, the same way it did when he was concentrating on his work. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a shuddering breath before speaking.

"I believe I remember now," Zack's weak voice was barely above a whisper. "He wanted to know what I was doing there. But I never told him anything! He doesn't know anything about the knife, Dr. Brennan."

"I was more worried about you," she smoothed his hair affectionately.

"Really?" he asked, opening his eyes. Brennan nodded.

"Of course. We've all been in here every couple of hours, waiting for you to wake up," she told him. "Everyone's been so worried about you. But, you did a good job Zack. I'm so proud of you." Then she patted him softly on the shoulder with an open hand. A smile returned slowly to Zack's face, causing Brennan to smile too. She knew just how much her approval meant to him. "I'll tell Booth about the knife, and then we'll be able to ID the Hangman. We'll get him; we always do." She started to get up. Zack's hand tightened around hers just barely, but it was enough to make her stop.

"You're going to come back, right?" he asked, his tone somewhat fearful. "I-I'm not entirely sure I want to be alone right now." Squeezing his hand back, she nodded.

"I'm just going to call Booth to tell him what you found. I'll only be out for a moment," Brennan promised. He let go of her hand rather reluctantly, but he clearly understood. Smiling at him, she stepped outside the room to call Booth. Hitting speed dial, she waited impatiently for him to pick up. As soon as he did, she rambled off to him what had happened in an excited burst. On the other end, Booth sounded faintly surprised, but pleased by this news. He said he would get another forensics team down there, considering the squints were all at home exhausted.

_"Don't worry Bones, we'll catch that jerk,"_ Booth told her triumphantly. _"Oh, hang on; someone wants to talk to you!"_ There was shuffling in the background, what sounded like whispering followed by giggles, and then another voice came on.

_"Hi Dr. Bones!"_ Parker exclaimed. Brennan couldn't help smiling at the little boy's excited tone.

"Hi Parker, how are you?"

_"I'm good! But you should go sleep now,"_ The seven-year-old's voice suddenly took on a serious note. _"My dad says you've been awake awwwwwwll night! I think he's worried about you!"_ She wasn't sure what to say at first.

"Well, that's very kind of him. Thank you for telling me, and tell him I said thank you too," she replied.

_"I will!"_ Parker said happily. She heard more whispering on the other end. _"Oh, and I hope your friend feels better soon!"_ She faltered slightly, once again unsure how to respond. How was it that the words of a child could leave her so speechless?

"I'm sure he will. Thank you, Parker."

_"You're welcome! Bye, Dr. Bones!"_ he laughed, and then handed the phone back to Booth.

_"Like I said, everything's gonna be fine, Bones. Now, please just take a moment to take care of yourself!"_ he pleaded.

"If it means that much to you…" she heaved a mock sigh, and Booth laughed.

_"Of course it does!_ You _mean a lot to me,"_ Booth's voice stumbled awkwardly at what he just said. _"After all, we're partners; we've gotta look out for each other, right?"_

"You are correct."

_"Anyway, like I said, I'll get a team to go get the knife. And, plenty of agents to make sure if any Executioners show up, we'll have them taken care of,"_ he told her. _"See you later, Bones."_

"You too, Booth." They hung up, and Brennan walked back into the room, feeling her spirits soar. Finally, something good was happening!

"Are they going to bring the knife back to the lab?" Zack asked wearily.

"Yes, Booth is going to send a team down," she replied, sitting back in the chair and taking his hand again. "You should get some rest now."

"Based on your posture, you are also tired." Brennan smiled at him.

"I'll sleep later. Right now, you need it more," she said gently.

"Alright," he mumbled sleepily, and his eyes closed. "Your point is valid…" Within a few minutes, he was asleep.


	25. Reckless Plans

> _J. Edger Hoover Building- Agent S. Booth's Office_

"Based on my preliminary findings on the Hangman, he's someone who's used to being in charge; both as the leader of the Executioners, and as his real identity," Sweets told Booth, even though he wasn't entirely sure Booth was even listening. They were in Booth's office, awaiting the results of the DNA test done on the blood found. Booth was sitting with his feet up on his desk, drumming his fingers anxiously, while Sweets chattered on about some psychology crap. It was annoying, to say the least!

Booth didn't think he could stand to listen to Sweets anymore, and was just about to snap at him to scram, when another agent and an FBI forensics man came in holding a file.

"Agent Booth, we have the results of the DNA test," the man said, causing Booth's stream of thought to stall. "The blood was dried, but we were able to re-hydrate enough to get an accurate match."

"Finally!" Booth exclaimed in exasperation as he swung his legs down and snatched the file from the man. Opening the file, he quickly surveyed the couple papers within it- and his jaw dropped open at the findings. He looked up slowly and stared at the two men before him. "Are you sure- are you absolutely _positive_ , that this ID is correct?" The agent nodded seriously.

"As soon as I saw who they came up with, I had them double and triple check the findings, Agent Booth. There's no mistake; that's the Hangman."

"Do you know where he was last seen?" Booth asked briskly, his shock dissipating.

"He's staying at some hotel; the address is in the file," he answered. "Hey, are you going to need a SWAT team?" Booth paused for a moment before answering, considering his options.

"No," he said at last. "There'll be other people in the hotel; we can't risk anyone getting hurt. I'll take a few others and we'll do a stealth mission. Get in and apprehend him before he has the chance to hurt someone else." He jotted down the hotel's address on a separate paper, then dashed out of his office to round up some men to go with him, leaving Sweets staring at the file.

"Campbell Morgan, the CEO of that new oil company?" he exclaimed. "He's the leader of the Executioners?"

> _Jeffersonian Medico-legal Lab_

Shortly after she'd called Booth, and once Zack was sleeping soundly, Brennan had admitted it was silly to continue to stay up, and that it was detrimental to her health. Feeling reluctant to go home to her apartment however, she'd gone back to the lab and fallen asleep in her office. There perhaps was a part of her that felt there was reason to stay, just in case new evidence turned up, even though it was deemed unlikely.

It felt as if she'd only just closed her eyes, when Brennan was awakened by a sharp knocking on her door. Groaning, she pulled herself up and rubbed her eyes.

"Come in," she called. It was Fisher and an FBI agent. "Mr. Fisher, what's he doing here?" she asked, bemused and totally ignorant of the agent's insulted look.

"Apparently, the FBI found something important linking to the murderer. We must've missed it. I'm a horrible scientist, and a bane on the world like everyone else," Fisher said in a tedious monotone.

"I think you're overreacting," she told him. Fisher just shrugged his shoulders limply.

"Whatever, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters," the agent stared at him awkwardly, before turning back to Brennan.

"The forensics team Agent Booth sent was able to get an ID from the blood found. He left with two others to go apprehend the suspect." He handed her a file. Brennan stared at the name and the photo, somewhat shocked. This was the face of the man who had kidnapped Zack, who'd put him through such hell; but he looked so… ordinary. In all honesty, she'd never given the Hangman a face in her mind, but if she had, it certainly wouldn't have been the one before her.

"'C. Morgan, head of Black Gold Industries'. But it doesn't make sense; why would he be the Hangman? What motive does he have?" she questioned, then realized she sounded like Booth, much to her annoyance.

"We ran his bank records, and some of the assets aren't exactly legal," the agent answered. Sweets popped up out of nowhere, poking his head into her office.

"It's quite possible. He probably uses the Executioners to do his dirty work. Whenever he wants something done and needs to go outside the law to do it, he'll use them," he speculated. Brennan glared at him. Why did he always have to show up right when she needed him around the least? The look was not lost on Sweets. "Hey, I just stopped by because I figured you should know! I'm on my way to go visit Zack along with everyone else now." Brennan looked back at the FBI agent.

"Considering you've figured out the Hangman's identity, Booth has gone to take him into custody, and I've been up all night because one of my team was _kidnapped_ , why do you need to tell me all of this _now?_ " she snapped.

"Because after he left, an agent who was interrogating the gang members in custody called us. He wasn't able to get the gang members in custody to tell us much, but one thing they would say was that their boss is no stranger to making bombs. We tried to alert Agent Booth, but we were unable to reach him. The two agents with him couldn't be contacted either," the agent explained. Brennan felt her stomach jump; suddenly, she wasn't so sleepy.

"Then why are you talking to me instead of going over there to do something about it?" she asked coldly.

"We're heading out now; we just figured that, as his partner, you had the right to know," he replied, then started to walk away. Brennan felt panic start to rise in her throat, similar to what she had experienced hours ago. There had to be something she could do; she refused to let the same thing happen again. An idea sprang into her brilliant mind wildly.

"Wait a moment," she jumped up from the couch and grabbed his arm. "Can't I at least be allowed to come with you? Like you said, Booth's my partner; I deserve to know what's happening." The man faltered, clearly against the idea of bringing her along. But her pretty face got the better of him, and sighing he said;

"Fine, if you're going to insist. Just, stay in the car, alright?" Brennan nodded with false earnestness. On the contrary, what she had in mind was not only reckless and dangerous, but the exact opposite of what she had just agreed to.


	26. Suite 617

> _The Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Washington DC_

Booth strolled in through the door to the hotel, followed by Agents Sabol and Donahue. They walked up to the check in casually, looking for all the world like ordinary business folk.

"Hello, may I help you?" the manager asked politely.

"Sure, that'd be great," Booth said cheerful, then moved his coat back to reveal the small FBI badge on his belt. Agent Sabol discretely showed her badge as well, followed by Donahue. The manager blinked, surprised, and then quickly composed himself.

"Anything you need, sirs and madam," he said quickly.

"We need the room number for a Campbell Morgan," Donahue told him. Turning to his computer, the manager quickly looked up the room.

"He is in Suite 617, twenty-third floor," he informed them, and handed Booth a key card. They nodded their thanks, then turned to leave.

"Oh, and we'd appreciate this being kept quiet, alright?" Sabol smiled at him sweetly. The manager nodded, silent as they walked away.

On the twenty-third floor, the three agents crept down the halls quietly. Sabol and Donahue covered Booth as they went, keeping an eye out for any Executioners that might be lurking nearby. Booth stopped suddenly outside the door to Suite 617. The agents slid their guns out of the hidden holsters at the same time. Swiping the key card, Booth motioned for them to stay behind him. The door swung open noiselessly.

"Federal agents!" Booth shouted as they rushed in, scoping the place out for their man. There he sat, sitting in a chair, his feet up on the coffee table. He looked up from his new paper, mock surprise across his face.

"Well now, I must admit Agent Booth, this is quite a surprise!" he exclaimed. Executioners leapt out of nowhere at them. Sabol fired at one with her gun, but missed in the struggle. Booth fought against the two men pinning him up to the wall. He froze suddenly as a knife was held against his throat. He risked a glance out of the corner of his eye and saw that Donahue and Sabol were on the ground, switchblades pressed to their necks as well. A slow clapping echoed though the room.

"Good job, boys! I must admit, it's quite a pleasure to meet you, Agent Booth." The Hangman applauded. "Don't be so surprised, of course I know who you are. I make it my business to know who the FBI's finest are. Know your opponent, as the saying goes. I had actually hoped you would be the one to try and 'bring me in'. Oh, and I wouldn't try any tricks if I were you; you see, I have one of my men waiting in the lobby with a bomb powerful enough to blow this hotel apart, should I say the word. And how's Dr. Brennan holding up? She must be so upset; after all, Dr. Addy was her former grad student, correct?" Booth stared at him incredulously. He'd dealt with drug dealers and gang leaders before, but this man's calm demeanor was simply baffling!

"How do you know about Dr. Brennan?" Booth queried. The Hangman waved his hand as if the matter was unimportant.

"Oh please, it wasn't _that_ hard," he snorted. "We knew that Dr. Addy worked at the Jeffersonian Institute, and from there it was easy to figure out that he was taught by the famous Dr. Temperance Brennan, partner to FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth. You must forget; I have connections in _all_ kinds of places." Anger boiled through his veins as Booth remained trapped against the wall.

"Oh yeah, is that so? Then what did you need Za- Dr. Addy for, anyway? If your connections are so good, that is." He was pleased to see that the Hangman's smile faltered for a moment, before he managed to plaster it back on.

"What does it matter? He was in my gang's territory, and we figured he might have something worth knowing."

"Too bad you couldn't get it out of him," Booth shot back. Was it just him, or did the Hangman's face turn just barely a shade redder?

"How is the young doctor, by the way?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. "My men certainly worked hard on him, and after that knife he got from West, well- I, for one, was surprised that they carried him out on a stretcher instead of a body bag." Booth's eyes narrowed in disgust, his brain racing for the best answer.

"Critical, last time I checked," he lied. "Doctors said it's unlikely he'll make it through the night." The Hangman's lips curled upwards in a sickeningly triumphant smile.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said in the voice that was clearly not sorry at all. Booth cocked an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't be so smug if I were you; the FBI now knows who you are." The Hangman shrugged.

"For now, at least. But it won't be too long before I remedy that problem. Sure, the FBI is quite an efficient force: but it's easy enough to change one's identity," he answered smugly. "And of course, once we're done with you three, we won't have to worry at all about being identified. The legacy of the Hangman isn't over yet, Agent Booth."

> _Hotel Lobby_

Brennan could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage as she slipped away from the FBI Agent who had brought her along. She'd ridden enough times in Booth's car to know that agents tended to keep an extra gun somewhere inside, usually the glove box, in case of an emergency. Her hand flew automatically towards the agent's spare weapon, now hidden in her jacket.

_'He really should be more careful with his things,'_ Brennan thought ruefully. Booth is never that careless. Just thinking about Booth and the present situation made her breathing quicken. Putting these thoughts out of her mind, she made her way calmly to the front desk.

"I'm looking for a man," she said briskly. "Tall, brown hair and eyes, wearing a suit?" These were all relatively vague descriptions, but she'd learned early on that going into detail about a person's facial structure only made people stare at her strangely. The manager frowned, thoughtful.

"Ah yes, I remember now," his expression cleared as the memory returned. "He had two companions as well; a man and a woman." Brennan nodded quickly, assuming they must be other agents.

"Yes, now could you tell me where they went?" she asked hastily. Time was of the essence.

"Wait, are you going to show me a gun now, too?" the man asked suspiciously. Brennan raised an eyebrow. "No, never mind, I don't want to know! Suite 617, twenty-third floor, here's the spare key." He handed said object over promptly. Brennan wasted no time in taking the key and setting off for her destination.

The Hangman smiled smugly as he produced a small gun from his pocket and raised it to Booth's temple.

"It was a valiant effort, but this game is mine; I'll always win,"

What happened next stunned them all.

The bang of a gunshot rang through the entire suite. The grin fell from the Hangman's face as he brought a hand to his chest. Blood pooled through his fine clothes. He stumbled and just barely managed to turn around, where he came face to face with the shooter.

"No one messes with my team," Temperance Brennan snarled, her gun still aimed at him even as he fell to the ground. Silence filled the area for a few short seconds. Taking advantage of their stunned captors, Donahue and Sabol managed to break free and grab their guns, subduing the men. Booth quickly broke free of the Executioners that held him also, and slammed them against the wall. The two men crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Brennan remained still, her gun pointing at the dead man on the floor.

"Bones, it's alright now," Booth said gently, walking over to her. Her white face jerked upwards as he put a hand to her shoulder. She took a shuddering breath before lowering her weapon.

"Sorry, I just… I've never had to shoot someone in the back before. I know that it some cases it's a necessary action, but it's left a bad feeling in my mouth."

"Bad _taste,_ " Booth corrected, smiling at Brennan before pulling her into hug, one which she eagerly returned. After a moment, Sabol's pointed cough broke them apart. Booth shrugged sheepishly at the other agent, then went over to help cuff the Executioners. No sooner was this done, than several more agents raced into the room. They looked around, stunned by the lack of danger.

"What happened here?" One of them exclaimed.

"And what are you doing here?" cried another agent, who, unbeknownst to Booth, was the same agent that had brought Brennan here in the first place.

"Truth be told, I'd like to know that too," Booth admitted, turning back to his partner. "Not that we didn't need the help, Bones."

"An agent informed me that you were possibly in danger, and allowed me to come along," Brennan explained, deciding to leave the agent's name out of this. Sparing him from Booth's wrath was the least she could do. "I snuck away from the group, then went to the lobby and managed to get the room number out of the manager. This suite actually has a second door; he probably requested it specifically for that reason." She nodded at the Hangman's prone figure. "After that… well, see for yourself." The agents all stared at her, stunned.

"Bones… do you even know how crazy and dangerous that was?" Booth gaped.

"Well," she answered, shrugging. "Couldn't let you have all the fun. I didn't shoot too slowly this time, now did I?"

"No," Booth shook his head, a grin spreading slowly across his face. "No, you didn't!"


	27. Fighting Fear

> _Regional Medical Center- Intensive Care Unit_

Angela sat next to the Zack's bed, with Cam across from her. Hodgins stood at the foot of the bed, his hands resting tensely on the edge. Sweets remained off towards the doorway, leaning against the wall. Despite knowing Zack for quite a while, he'd just never entirely gotten used to him. Perhaps that was just how Zack was. As soon as Brennan had notified the squints that the doctors were now certain Zack would recover, they had all rushed to the hospital to visit. So far, they'd been waiting there for quite a while, jumping every time he turned a little in his sleep. No one could blame them, though; over the past several hours, Zack had lain deathly still.

His face had returned to a much healthier color, even though there were still dark shadows under his eyes, and the many bruises stood out clearly. An oxygen tube remained wrapped around his head, but his breathing was coming with such ease that they doubted he would need it for much longer. Calm, even beeps came from the heart monitor, which had been the first thing they'd noticed when they had entered the ICU room. It was quite a relief from the erratic sounds that had plagued them all throughout this horrid ordeal. But as of yet, Zack hadn't woken up, leaving them all to sit in silence.

As always, it was Hodgins who broke said quiet.

"Y'know, as much as I know how much he needs his rest, a part of me just wants him to wake up already," he announced.

"I know what you mean," Angela murmured. "Poor thing; he must be so tired." She reached out and smoothed Zack's hair affectionately. At her touch, his eyebrows twitched slightly, then frowned in an expression that, even in this state, was so utterly Zack-like they hardly dared to believe it. Angela froze, her hand still against his head and her breath held, just like the others. Everyone leaned forward slightly, waiting. Zack's eyes flickered open and he looked at them all, slightly puzzled.

"Why are you all staring at me?" At the sound of his weak, whisper-of-a-voice, the other occupants in the room exploded into cheers of joy. They were so happy and relieved, they completely ignored Zack's question; they were just glad he had the chance to ask it.

"Welcome back, Zackaroni!" Cam beamed at him.

"Dude, I swear, for a moment I thought you were gonna pull a Booth on us-!" Hodgins cut off his exclamation short. Booth's brain tumor, and resulting amnesia, had occurred while Zack was still locked up in the looney bin- er, McKinley Psychiatric Hospital. Of course, they had all told Zack what had transpired during this period; but it was unstable ground, to say the least, and was very rarely tread upon by the squint squad. But, Zack merely gave one of his soft smiles, which was unlikely enough as it was. After a little bit, the exclamations died down and they all settled back, broad grins still across their faces. Leave it to Cam, however, to have to bring everyone down.

"Zack… do you remember what happened to you?" she asked gently. As uncomfortable as it was, it needed to be asked. Sometimes, painkillers and anesthetics caused amnesia in patients, and she needed to be sure this wasn't the case. Zack paled slightly, but other than that remained emotionless.

"Yes; Dr. Brennan helped remind me of the events during her visit," he replied. Was it just them, or was there a slight break in his hoarse voice?

"Hey man, don't you worry; everything's gonna be alright now," Hodgins reassured, reaching out and patting him somewhere around the ankle. Zack winced slightly and Hodgins quickly pulled away, apologizing and saying he would get a doctor.

"No, it's alright, you didn't do anything; my chest, it just hurts a little," Zack gasped.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" Sweets asked. Zack started to shake his head, then stopped, visibly turning green.

"I'm fine; I'd rather not have any more painkillers. Drugs give me bad dreams," he explained. After that, the team remained mostly in a companionable silence, occasionally punctured by talk of things that had happened at the lab or at home while he had been unconscious (not that they'd been really interested with such things at the time, and with good reason). For the most part, Zack just listened. They'd almost forgotten what a good listener he could be, even if he didn't understand half of what they were talking about and sometimes asked way too many questions. He was too weak to say much, remaining propped up against the pillows while he listened. It just felt good to have him there, awake at last.

They were somewhat surprised when this moment was shattered by Booth and Brennan's arrival. The two stood in the doorway, looking somewhat disheveled.

"Dude, what the hell happened to you two?" Sweets exclaimed, and was quickly silenced by a look from Booth. The way he saw it, things were stressful enough as it was without having to explain what had occurred; they would just have to wait their turns like good little squints.

A smile broke out on Brennan's face as she rushed to join her team. Angela squealed and pulled her into an overjoyed hug. When they broke apart, the two women traded places; Brennan sitting down in the chair and Angela going over to stand next to Hodgins, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"How are you feeling?" Brennan asked softly.

"Depending on the amount of time it takes for my injuries to heal, I should be able to return to work within a few weeks," answered Zack.

"That's not what I asked," she said sternly.

"I'm a little sore," he admitted, in what was perhaps the biggest understatement of the year. Nodding, she reached and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You just need to rest, and you'll feel better soon," she assured.

"Hey, when was the last time anyone here got anything to eat?" Booth queried, surveying the room full of squints. They mumbled a little and looked around sheepishly.

"Umm… what day is today?" Angela asked. Booth laughed. "That's as good an answer as any. C'mon, the kid's gonna be fine; go get some food!"

"Fine," Hodgins grumbled, but not denying that he was pretty hungry. "Angie and I can go and get some take-out for everybody."

"You should all go, I'll be fine here," Zack said quietly. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised. "If it's alright, I want to ask Agent Booth something." Their gazes shifted from him to Booth, who was equally stunned.

"Um, yeah, sure thing Zack," he answered after a moment. "You squints can go out and eat, he's not going anywhere." At first, they had every intention of objecting, but Zack had a determined look in his eyes that they didn't usually see. Whatever he had to ask, it must have been really important.

After the team, including Brennan, filed out, Booth sat down in one of the chairs. Observing the young doctor, Booth realized just how much Zack had grown as a person since they had first met. What he'd told Brennan was right; Zack wasn't the awkward grad student she'd taught anymore. He wasn't the young man who went to Iraq in an effort to prove something to others, and to himself. And he certainly wasn't the same person who'd been tricked with logic by a madman.

"So…," he began awkwardly. "What's up?" Zack took a deep breath; he looked just as nervous as Booth.

"Is it alright to be scared?" he blurted out, then quickly turned his head away, as if ashamed. Booth suddenly felt concerned for him, something which he usually didn't feel towards the squint.

"Hey, you heard the docs, they said you'll make a full recovery."

"No, it's not that," Zack bit his lip. "I couldn't ask anyone else, because they haven't gone through something similar to this."

"Zack, you're going to have to do some better explaining than this," Booth said, even as he started to feel the answer dawning on him.

"You're the only one who's also been subject to..." It seemed too difficult to get the word out, but Booth knew what it was. He was the only other person Zack knew who knew what it was like to be tortured. "While they were… I knew I couldn't say anything, and I didn't, but…" He paused, looking unsure for once. He looked up at Booth, and there was real fear in his eyes. Booth recognized that haunted look; he'd seen it on plenty of other men back in the service. "I was terrified. I've never felt so scared in my life, knowing that I was probably going to die there. But, at the same time… I knew if I talked, he'd go after everyone else. I know it's over, but every time I close my eyes, I k-keep thinking… i-if I open them… I'll be b-back in there. I-it's completely illogical, a-and yet, I'm s-scared. I'm s-so s-scared." His hoarse voice was shaking and his dark eyes had a bright gleam to them. The look on his face was a strange mixture of fear and anger, directed mostly at himself for not being able to understand what was happening. He was always in control, always knew what was going on; except for now, of course.

"It's okay kid, everything's alright now," Booth said gently, and ruffled Zack's hair. "Yeah, I know what you're talking about; no one could go through what's happened to you and not be traumatized. And none of it's your fault. I know we don't always see eye-to-eye, so you might not be getting this; but the point is, it's okay to be scared. Give it time, kid, and things will start making sense again. Just don't shut out your friends, because that doesn't help anybody. You hear me?" 

Booth remembered how annoying he'd first found his new partner's brilliant student. Zack didn't talk often, but when he did it might as well have been in Swahili, and it never failed to make Booth feel stupid. He stared at him too much, studying him like a fascinating new puzzle, just as his teacher did. And he was so cut-off from the real world, from 'normal' people and emotions; if the FBI didn't have background checks on all the squints, Booth would've sworn Zack was from Jupiter. It never occurred to him that the grad student felt just as nervous around the agent as Booth felt around him; but along with that, respect and timid admiration. Maybe Zack had just needed time to grow; in whatever unusual way that was characteristic to him.

Moving his hand from Zack's head to his shoulder, Booth gave him a gentle pat. He wasn't really sure why Brennan had asked him to do that back then, but it obviously meant something to the young doctor. If the gesture pained him, Zack didn't show it. A cautious smile crept out onto his face, and when he spoke, his voice was steadier.

"Alright; your logic is sound. I'll remember what you have said," he stopped, as if thinking what he should say next. The confusion in his eyes cleared up as he recalled what the socially correct response was. "Thank you, Agent Booth."

Because one thing was for certain; Zack Addy fought for what he wanted, and he didn't give up so easily.

**Author's Note:**

> If you stuck with it this long, please consider leaving a kudo! Thanks for reading!


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